


These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

by Cantique



Series: Empty Saddles, New Frontiers [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU where I cowboys are legit still a thing in some places I guess?, Ana basically adopts you lol, F/M, I'm making this up as I go along, I've been binging westworld, Not sure if it'll be full blown love triangle or just some weird tension with Hanzo, Reader is a sex worker, Who Knows?, definitely angst, maybe jesse and you wont even get back together, not even me, please help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-18
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-08-31 17:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 111,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8587651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantique/pseuds/Cantique
Summary: "Jesse McCree, you son of a bitch!" He pulls himself together, rubbing his cheek but still smiling despite the sting. "Now, now," he warns playfully, mischief in his eyes, "is that any way t' treat an old friend?"--You're a working girl in a saloon. Jesse is leading a covert mission to take down the leader of the Deadlock gang. He comes to you for the information the team needs, and you don't have much of a choice but to help, even despite your history.--I've been watching too much Westworld. I'm cowboy loving garbage.





	1. The Trap

Jesse McCree is used to staring death in the face. It's part of his job description, really. Not a week goes by without his life being in immediate danger, and it's rare for him to walk away with more than a few cuts or bruises. Needless to say, not a lot scares him. He's not a timid man, by any means.

And yet, when it comes to the swing doors of the old saloon-bar a few hours off Route 66, Jesse McCree finds himself hesitating, his feet almost fixed in place as it dawns on him what awaits him inside.

"Jesse," the warm voice of Ana begins, bringing him back to reality, breaking him out of his freeze, "is everything alright?" She asks. "You look like you've seen a ghost." He glances to her. He notices that she's pulled her hood over her head, and wonders if she's trying to keep a low profile. Smart, really, given the circumstances.

This is meant to be a 'covert' mission, according to 76, and Jesse hasn't been seen around these parts in... well, it's been a few years, at least. Between the local's familiarity with him and the fact that the third member of their travelling party is a Japanese man dressed like... well, Hanzo sticks like a sore thumb, and Jesse doubts there's going to be anything covert about this at all. Jesse himself hadn't had to be covert since Blackwatch was operational. Unless you count all those years he was in hiding.

"Just, uh," he shoots her a smile, "lotta' memories through those doors." He looks ahead, squaring his shoulders. "Couple'a ghosts, too, I reckon'."

Jesse forges ahead, pushing through the doors, head straight, quickly shooting his gaze around the room. He pauses once he's established, the eye of everyone in that well-populated saloon-bar falling on him. His two companions are probably a little uneasy about this, but not him. McCree honestly feels a little nostalgic for this. He hasn't had command of a room like this for years, and it's not something he hates.

After the moment has settled, he takes a few more steps and the majority of the saloon-bar goes back to it's business, new hands being dealt, gossip being shared and whisky being downed. None of this is what Jesse is after, though. He's after--

He's barely able to process the quick, loud and heeled steps against the floorboards in his direction by the time the slap lands across his face, the sound so loud that even Hanzo expresses a minor discomfort at witnessing it. He turns with the slap, one hand rising to his cheek, the other to make sure his hat hadn't flown off on impact.

"Jesse McCree, you son of a bitch!"

He pulls himself together, rubbing his cheek but still smiling despite the sting. "Now, now," he warns playfully, mischief in his eyes, "is that any way t' treat an old friend?"

"You've got some nerve comin' back here! I don't know who you're lookin' for, Jesse, but you ain't welcome to--"

"Actually," he interrupts. "I was lookin' for you," he pauses, smirking at you. "Darlin."

* * *

 

The table the four of you share is filled with uncomfortable tension, not from the two strangers you're seated with -- who, despite their introductions and politeness, are still making you quite uneasy -- but because of the old memory sitting across from you in a red and orange poncho. "I thought we agreed you were gonna try and get outta' here," he begins, lighting a fresh cigar. "Was hopin' I wasn't gonna find you."

"I'll change my profession when you change that there poncho," you snap, your arms crossed. Ana seems amused by this, glancing to Jessie and pursing her lips, perhaps to hide a smile. "Why are you here, Jesse?" You ask. "Skip the small talk. You ain't ever bothered me unless you want somethin'."

The tension at the table thickens and Hanzo shoots Ana an uncomfortable glance. McCree inhales deeply, shifting as he exhales with an audible sigh. Under normal circumstances, the two of you would probably be shouting at eachother by now, maybe throwing things. But the addition of two guests makes things different. "Lookin' for someone," he begins, the cigar finding its way into his mouth. "Thought you might be able to help us."

You cross your arms, leaning into the back of your seat with defiance as your eyes thin. "Lotta' people come through here, Jesse. I see a lotta' folk, lotta' faces." Your voice is littered with spite, the tone a code for him.

"This is very important," Ana speaks up, glancing between the two of you. "For the benefit of the greater good."

"I'm sure it is," you reply, a genuine and polite smile for her. His friends get courtesy. Jesse doesn't. "Problem is, y'see, Jesse's known quite well 'round these parts." You shoot him a quick glance, but no more than a second before returning your attention back to her. "I'd say the second he stepped in here, someone ran out the back t' go an' tell whoever has the highest price on your head." You glance at the nearest clock. "I reckon' ya'll got 'bout five minutes before whoever you're lookin' for shows up themselves, and there's a lotta' innocent folk in here, along with little ol' me, who'll 'prolly not be a favourite, what, given how I'm tellin ya'll who's who and all." You pause, shooting him a glance. "And you always liked your work t' be clean, didntya', Jesse?" You fix your attention on him, his face darkening, his fingers flexing, ready to reach for his gun at any moment. You've put him on edge. "So tell me, Jesse -- who you lookin' for and how much you willin' t' pay me?"

All three of you are staring him down now, although the expressions on his companion's faces are nervous. They know exactly who they're after, but they're leaving it to Jesse to tell you. Your eyes are locked, a show-down in itself. A bell sounds off in the distance -- whoever is here for Jesse is minutes away, if that.

"Wicker," he finally drops, his voice blunt. "We're goin' after Deadlock."

People run past the doors of the saloon-bar and you turn cold as it dawns on you. It's almost as if everything is in slow motion for a moment, your mind connecting what should be obvious information, taking extra time to believe it because no one is that stupid, surely. No one tries to take on Deadlock with three people. No one tries to take on Deadlock. The words seem to leave your mouth automatically. "What... in god's name... have you done?" You ask him, your teeth gritting together. They'll burst through that door any second.

"Tell me what you know," is all he says.

"Jesse," you growl, your voice low, a growl, your care about his two companions long gone. "If Wicker gets here and even _thinks_  I've been talkin' to you--"

"Tell me."

Your eyes widen. "He'll kill me," you insist. "You can't leave me here."

"You'll be fine," he assures you, not moving despite those around you beginning to up and move, the danger apparent. "As long as you tell me what you know."

You hesitate, considering holding out, but then you hear a gunshot outside and the other working girls scream, running for cover and hiding places, the regulars fleeing all together. You physically flinch and your cool is gone. The danger is real and all that's separating you and the Deadlock gang's line of fire right now is two very flimsy swing doors. "Okay," you relent, leaning in and across the table, your voice a whisper. "One of his men is a regular. You want their cache? Their supply routes? Wicker's hideout? Fine." You reach out, grabbing the fabric of his poncho in your hand. "But I ain't tellin' you a goddamn _word_ in details until you get me the _fuck_  outta' here!"

His face, once stoic and expressionless, changes. His mouth shifts into a smirk, the same one that fills you with anger at the best of times because it only accompanies his own arrogance. "That wasn't do so difficult, was it?" He asks. You can see their feet under the swing doors from the other side. You're completely unarmed and all but frozen in terror. Anyone else and you could talk your way to safety, but Deadlock? When Jesse had been seen? You had no hope. "No need for the language, either." He rises from his seat, nodding to Ana and Hanzo, who rise with him as he turns to the door, resting his hand on the handle of his gun. "I know for a fact your ma' didn't raise ya' that way." He quickly nods to Hanzo. "Get her outta here. Through the cellar. There's a door that comes up to the side of the building." He pauses. "Don't lose her. We're gonna need her help."

Hanzo returns the nod, taking your by the arm and leading you away, your feet feeling a little heavy under the weight of this all. As you turn the corner behind the bar to the cellar steps, you hear the first gunshots, screams and shouts of fear from the patrons and staff alike. He leads you down through the cellar and you do your best to keep up with him.

When you finally come to the door that leads outside, he stops, turning to you and gesturing for you to stay quiet. You cover your nose and mouth with your hands in an attempt to stifle your tired breath as he slowly opens the door, his bow an arrow ready. You silently wonder how he plans on killing *anyone* with those, but he very quickly proves you wrong. There had been two Deadlock men waiting by the door, and he takes them out with ease, so quickly that you wonder if they even knew he was there. He takes you by the arm again, leading you outside before letting go, gesturing for you to follow him as he readies his bow for whatever may come at you.

After a few short moments of sprinting, he leads you to... a group of three horses? "You're kidding," you pant as you reach them, Hanzo quickly untying them from the nearby post. "Horses? Really?"

Hanzo gives a quick nod. "Quieter and more versatile than the alternatives," is the most explanation you get before he gestures to one. "Get on, quickly," he orders, standing by you to assist. You've been on a horse before, sure. After all, you're from the same town Jesse is, but you still appreciate his help getting you on the saddle. To your surprise, he quickly joins you, taking place behind you on the back of the horse and causing you to shimmy forward a little. He takes the reins, arms either side of you, and although uncomfortable, part of you is glad to have them there in case you fall off in your anxiety-stricken state.

By the time he turns the horse to face the direction of the saloon-bar, Ana and Jesse aren't far off, both of them running towards you. While no one is chasing them, Jesse definitely has more than a fair share of blood splatter on the front of his poncho, which is enough to tell you how things went in there. "Wicker got away," he details, quickly getting into the saddle with a finesse that reminds you of your childhood. "We'd best get outta here before every bounty-hunter in the county gets here." Once Ana is on her horse, the four of you gallop away into the dry distance, dust surrounding you for what feels like an hour. You don't slow down at all until Jesse is confident that you're clear.

Eventually you decide to set down by a stream, the dry-grass tickling at your ankles once you touch the ground, suddenly making you painfully aware that you're still in your work outfit. Jesse makes his way immediately to the small yet strong trickle of water, washing the blood off his hands, eventually moving on to his face.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Ana asks, her hand on your shoulder making you jump, your hand automatically coming to your chest.

"Yeah," you reply, a weak laugh following. "Just a lil' on edge."

The elder of the three smiles, rubbing your back gently. "You're safe now," she assures you. "We've dealt with much worse before, don't you worry."

You open your mouth to speak, but suddenly a pile of fabric is shoved against your chest. "Here," Jesse says as he all but pushes the poncho on to you. "Next township we'll get ya' some better clothes for travellin'. You're ridin' with us."

You frown -- not at the offer of the poncho, which you put on almost immediately, shielding you from the sun, but announcement that you'd be joining them. "I don't 'member agreeing to ridin' with you anywhere."

He exhales, shaking his head. "We need ya' to guide us 'round," he explains. "You know the lay of the land better than I have. Always have. Sides," he smirks, crossing his arms. "We could drop ya' off at the next township once ya' tell us what we need, but I'm thinkin' that Deadlock wants ya' as much as they want me right now."

He's entirely right. You hate it when he's right, because he knows it and holds on to it for as long as he possibly can. It's insufferable. "Fine," you relent, your jaw stiffening. "Can I at least get my own horse at the next town?"

Jesse shrugs, turning to inspect his horse's saddle. "Maybe. If yer' good and I decide ya' can."

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to face Ana, shaking your head, deciding to now play into his game. You'd only been reunited for ten minutes before this all went to hell, and now he has the audacity to treat you like nothing happened in the past. Like he didn't wreak havoc on everyone. Like he didn't skip town. Like he never did wrong by you.

"You know," Ana begins, gesturing for you to follow her. She only takes a few steps away, but it's obvious that she's trying to create some distance between you, to keep the peace. "When he told me that we had an informant, he didn't tell us that you already knew each other."

"Didn't he?" You ask. You're not surprised. "'Course he didn't."

"May I ask how?"

You cross your arms under the poncho, looking out into the distance, the horizon rippling under the sun. Honestly, you'd be insulted that Jesse didn't even bother telling them that you knew each-other, but you've come to expect this kind of behaviour from him. He was the same as a kid, the same as an Outlaw, and the same when he dragged his sorry self back into your bar after he'd skipped town without so much as a word. You're convinced that if he was ever going to change, it would have happened by now.

"We grew up together."


	2. Renegade Riders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for implied attempted rape here.

**_Years ago..._**  
\--

"Teacher reckons' I got the right stuff t'be a doctor," you begin, crossing your arms and relaxing them on the corral fence. The sun bears down on your back, but the clouds keep it only lukewarm. It the perfect weather to watch some of the horses, and you glance aside to Jesse, who's standing beside you, his posture mirroring your own. "A lawyer, even."

He shoots you a grin, the same one you tend to receive before he finds a way to make fun of you. "'Cause that's what the world needs," he replies with a click of his tongue, shaking his head and looking back to the horses. "You gettin' _paid_  t' argue with everyone."

You deliberately give an audible sigh, rolling your eyes. "I'm serious, Jesse," you insist. "I'm thinkin' 'bout it."

He shifts from one foot to the other, watching one of the foals gallop around playfully with another. It's been a good year for your father's ranch. Lots of foals, only one lost. A stillborn. Even with your best assistance nothing could have helped that. It's been nice to see your father so at ease, the relief settling in that the next year might be a little easier than the last. "Doesn't sound like a lot t' think 'bout t' me," he dismisses. "Reckon' you'd make a better Doctor, tho. You'd get to spend all day tellin' folk what to do."

"I'd havta' go to college, though..."

Jesse holds a silence, kicking a little at the dirt with his boots, looking downwards for a second before diverting his attention back to the foals. "So you'd be leavin', then?"

Your attention is on the corral fence now, your nails picking with a stray splinter. Maybe your father can have a new corral built with the money from the extra horses when the time comes. This one is constantly needing to be repaired. "'Spose I would."

"You told your 'pa you're considering this?" He asks.

"Nah," shaking your head, you pick off the splinter, reaching your hand out past the fence and dusting your fingers against each other to discard it. "He's been in such a good mood, what, with the lucky streak we've been havin' and all. Might wait a while. Make up my mind first before I worry him." You look to Jesse, an eyebrow raised, watching him carefully. "What about you?" You ask. "You know what you wanna do with yourself, yet? I mean, y' could get started now. Not like you show up to school half the time."

Jesse shrugs. "I 'dunno. 'Spose you got an idea 'bout it. You do everything else."

He's got you there, and you can't help but laugh a little to yourself. "Well, you're a good shot," you muse. "If you ain't gonna be a cowboy, I always figured you'd make a good lawman."

"Lawman, huh?" He muses, a smile on his face, although you can't tell if it's a fond one or one of amusement.

"'Course," you laugh, "you'd haveta' start behavin' yourself." You manage to catch his gaze this time. "Can't have you startin' fights if you're the Sheriff, can we?"

"Oh, Sheriff now?" The smile he delivers with this is genuine. "Quite a promotion you've given me there!" he laughs, watching as you roll your eyes again, but he simmers down a little, looking back out to the horses. "I can take down the Outlaws and you can stitch 'em up. Real good husband and wife team"

You shake your head at this, laughing along. "You gotta' lotta groundwork t' do before _that_  happens, Jesse."

"Aww, I been pretty good recently," he argues.

"Jesse, ya' still got a busted lip from the last fight ya' got into." You give a long exhale, glancing to him again. "'Sides, traditionally ya' gotta court a woman 'fore her pa' will even think of lettin' her marry you."

"I'll keep that in mind next time I come 'round then," he concludes, leaning more against the corral fence now. He's joking of course. Jesse is always joking about these things, but this time there's something in his voice as he says it that causes you to stare at him for a while, hoping he'll elaborate. He doesn't, of course. When Jesse is finished, it usually means he's finished. He's stubborn like that.

He breaks you out of your study suddenly, saying your name firmly, low, like he doesn't want someone else to hear it. "Run inside and get your 'pa," he warns. Startled, you follow the line of his arm, realising his hand is resting on his gun.

"Jesse?" You ask. But he doesn't respond immediately. You look out onto the horizon where his gaze is fixed, and see the outline of something. It's hard to make out perfectly, but it's someone on a horse. More than one, perhaps.

"Rustlers," he says under his breath, his eyes not moving at all from the outlines in the distance. "Go. Now."

You're not one to argue with him on this. If anything is to be said about Jesse, he's a crack shot, the best shot you've ever met. In fact, you've never even _heard_  of anyone better. His word is one you trust on this. You turn, running as fast as you can to the house, the dust flying up around your feet as you hit the dry path.

When you make it to the house, you throw the door open, bursting into the dining room, where your father is reading while your mother cooks. "Pa," you gasp, out of breathe from the run. "Jesse told me t' get ya'." You rather only responds by closing his book, his eyebrow raised. He's known Jesse as long as you have, and probably expects that Jesse has somehow hurt himself again pulling some kind of dumb stunt. "He says there's rustlers comin'."

His face turns to one of deep concern, and he immediately rises from his seat. "Take your mother and ride into town," he tells you, storming out of the dining room and into the hall. You follow. "You get the Sheriff. It'll be safer for you."

"Pa," you argue, watching him take his shotgun from the wall, checking it's ready to go. "I wanna help. I can--"

"You'll be helpin' plenty by gettin' the Sheriff," he interrupts. "Go. Quickly."

You look to your mother, who has abandoned her cooking, wiping her hands on her apron, and gesture for her to follow you. The two of you rush out of the house. You can already see the silhouettes of the Rustlers from the porch. They're even closer. You take the saddled horses, your mother on your fathers, you on Jesse's, and gallop away from the ranch and towards town.

You jump when you hear the first gunshot, and once you're clear off the property with town in sight, you pull back. "You go," you call to your mother. "I gotta protect the horses!" Although you expect her to argue, she merely pauses, thinking it over before giving a nod and continuing her ride into town. You turn and head back home.

You mentally plan it all out on your way back. You know your father keeps another shotgun in his study. You'll get home, grab the shotgun and then head straight for the foals and still pregnant mares in one of the stables. You need to keep them safe. They're exactly what the Rustlers will be eyeing off first.

You all but jump off the horse, sprinting into the house, dashing to your father's study and opening the dresser inside. Sure enough, a second shotgun and ammunition is inside. You take the shotgun, making sure it's loaded, before stuffing your pockets full of as much ammunition as you can carry. More gunshots outside. Your heart is racing as you sprint out of the house.

"Well, hello, lil' lady!" A voice laughs once you're off the porch. You turn and see a Rustler, obviously heading to the house to check if anyone else was inside. Thank god your mother is on her way to town. "Looks like it ain't just horses that---"

You shoot and he drops to the ground, the sound of your shotgun echoing over the property. You've shot a gun before. You're seventeen, and for almost ten years now your best friend has been Jesse McCree. Of course he's taught you how to shoot. You've never shot a person before, though, and you expected it to feel different. You thought maybe there'd be a shame or guilt right away. But there isn't. You aren't weighed down by the implications of ending a human life right now, not when yours is still at risk. Not when the two most important men in your life are vastly outnumbered by people trying to hurt them.

Not sparing the Rustler any further thought, you cock the shotgun again and rush to the stables, hoping to beat the two stray Rustlers who are making their way there. You run through the door, ignoring the sound of Jesse calling your name of the sound of your father firing his shotgun at someone in the distance, and barricade yourself inside.

More gunshots. Six quick ones in succession. Either six of them have shot at once or Jesse has just killed six people. Someone tries to open the door, but you'd managed to keep it secure for now. There's laughter from the other side before something starts banging against it. They're going to kick it down. You ready your shotgun and get behind cover. You can probably take down two of them, or at least take one out and keep the second busy until someone arrives to help, anyway.

It's not long until they manage to break down your barricade, and when you immediately rise from cover to shoot your eyes widen. There wasn't just two. There's six of them. You shoot anyway, taking one out, leaving five to shoot back. Then a voice laughs. "Now, now," he croaks, his voice aged, scraggly. "Let's not shoot a lady. Not one as clearly capable as this one." You rise again, having reloaded, but he's directly in front of you, grabbing your shotgun by the middle of the barrel before you can fire. He throws it to the side, his sudden presence having you startled you into hesitation, and kicks the empty crate you've been hiding behind away. You're completely exposed, and you fall backwards onto your behind.

The man grins, stepping towards you, looming over you, scratching at his long, grey beard. "Who just leaves a nice girl like you out here alone?" He asks, continuing towards you at his pace. You scramble backwards, but he continues, "then again, nice girls don't shoot." Your back hits the wall and you gasp, and the Rustler turns back to his men to address them. "Ya'll figure out who's goin' next." He turns back to you and you want to scream, but you can't. Partly because you're terrified, but also because a small part of you is still defiant. You think that might somehow satisfy him more.

You swear that you see him freeze before you hear the gunshot, but his men fall more in sync with the sound than him. Only one figure is still standing when the rest of fallen, Jesse standing by the doorway, splattered with blood. Everything is oddly silent before he says your name.

"I'm ok," you say, your voice shaking as he makes a beeline for you, crouching down, looking you over, checking to make sure you aren't hurt. "Where's Pa?" You ask.

"Sheriff just arrived. Bit late though. Got 'em all. ...But he's alright." Satisfied that you aren't hurt, he exhales. "What the hell were you thinkin'?" You open your mouth to argue but before you can, he pulls you against him, holding you close. "Nearly had me a damned heart attack when I saw you runnin' in here." Jesse has never shied away from touching you before. One time he even kissed you in front of a boy you liked to make him jealous. But this is new. He's holding you like you might vanish into thin air if you let go. And you can't help but cling to him the same.

You watch as the Sheriff and your father enter the barn, another of the lawmen behind them, and your father is visibly relieved to see you alive and well, even if he has to step over the dead bodies of the rustlers. Jesse eventually lets go of you, but it's too late. There's no way no one else saw that.

"Took down all six of 'em, hey?" The Sheriff asks Jesse, kicking one of the bodies as your father kneels down beside you, checking over you the same way Jesse did.

"Actually, five," he admits, nodding towards you. "She took one of them down."

"One up by the house, too," you add. Jesse raises an eyebrow at this, but smiles and gives an impressed nod.

The Sheriff shrugs. "Either way, boy, you got a talent." He looks to Jesse, thinking for a moment before giving a singular nod. "Why don't you come by my office tomorrow, by the town jail? Could use a shot like you." He gives Jesse a nod before turning back to the other lawman. "Lets go get what we can off those bodies, try and figure out who these bastards were." Giving your father a final glance, they leave the barn.

Your father and Jesse help you to your feet, your father shaking his head. "I told you to stay with your Mother," he reminds you angrily as you dust yourself off. "You coulda' been killed."

"Someone had t' keep the horses safe," you argue. "And anyway, Jesse taught me how t' shoot, I can protect myself."

Your father's gaze snaps to Jesse, who suddenly seems very uncomfortable. "That true?" He asks. "You taught my daughter how to shoot a gun?"

For a second Jesse seems terrified, which isn't something you see often given his total disregard for his own safety most of the time. But he soon steadies himself, finding himself and holding his head high. "Yessir I did," he admits. "I wanted her t' be able to protect herself when I ain't around."

Your father seems mad at first, but doesn't say anything, and you can visible see him simmer down in front of you. "You'd best get inside," he tells you. "Go wash. I don't like seein' my daughter with someone's blood on her face." You automatically raise your hand to your cheek. You didn't even realise. "And you?" He says to Jesse. "You stick around and help 'till the Sheriff is done. I got words for you once all this is over."

Knowing better than to further anger your father, less Jesse be on the receiving end of it, you give Jesse a nod and oblige, heading up to the house, unable to help but glance at the body of the first man you shot.

* * *

Jesse watches the cart ride away, the Sheriff and Undertaker riding at the front, the back loaded with the bodies of the rustlers, and the lawman following on horseback. The sun is setting, the sky red, and the horizon dancing about again in the heat like water.

"You saved my ranch, boy," her father says, giving a long exhale, his hands resting on his hips. "I owe you a great deal."

"It ain't nothin', Sir," Jesse dismisses. "Just doin' what any honest man should."

Her father eyes him and smiles a little. "Decided on bein' honest now, have ya'?" He asks. "Y'know, I spent a long time not likin' you," he admits. "Sure, you were always a good kid when ya pa' was workin' for me, but the second you hit middle school I thought you were gonna turn into a problem." He pauses. "And for a bit ya' did. Couldn't figure out what my daughter saw in you. My wife's got a soft spot for ya', too. But I never could pin it." He stops, looking downwards for a second before facing Jesse. "You really care for my daughter, don't ya'?"

Jesse blinks, trying to assess this situation. He's been asked that by other fathers, men who want to know why they've caught him kissing their daughters or sniffing around their houses late at night. This, though, is different. He's compelled to be honest. "Yessir," he says, "I do. Very much. Have since we were little."

Her father thinks this over, crossing his arms, nodding in silence. Finally, though, shrugs to himself. "I always thought she'd end up marryin' a General or a Banker, maybe even a President one day." He looks Jesse in the eye. "But I guess a lawman ain't so bad." Jesse stands there in silence, speechless for what seems to be the first time in his life, which is enough to cause her father to laugh a hearty, genuine laugh. He reaches up and slaps Jesse in the back, beginning the walk across the Ranch with his arm over his shoulders, declaring a camaraderie between them. "Now, I'll let you court her, but I got some rules. Alone durin' the day only. Ya'll can go t' dances, but she's to be straight home -- although I think you know well as I do that she ain't the dancin' type. You keep your nose outta' trouble, you take up a good job and if -- and only if -- she decides she's content with your ugly mug, I'll even let ya' marry her."

Jesse struggles for a while to settle on how he feels. He's always liked her, of course. And although he enjoys chasing girls as much as the next single man, he'd drop it all if she was agreeable to him. It's strange to him -- previously the thought of this conversation would be enough to send him running for the hills. But now that it's here? Now that it's come to it? It doesn't sound that terrible at all. "How'd you know?" He asks.

"Well," her father begins with a smile, "I was your age once, too. Never got up to trouble like you, better lookin', too. But the second you put a woman above your fear of her father -- by doin' something like teaching her how t'shoot, for example -- is the second you put her ahead of yourself."

"...Alright, Sir," he agrees, finally smiling, the traces of shock in his face finally vanishing. "I promise, I'll go take up that job with the Sheriff t'morrow."

"Good," he father says as they arrive at the horses, Jesse's tethered and ready to travel. "You got less than a year 'til she's of marriageable age," he warns as Jesse gets in to the saddle. "Seems like a long time, but when it comes to courtin', it ain't." His father smiles and nods to Jesse, who in response tips his hat. "Make it count."

Jesse rides off, his heart pounding faster than it has during any gunfight he's been in.

 


	3. A Long Ride From Hell

The next township, or at least the one that McCree has planned out, is too far to reach by dark. And although he wants to push ahead, Ana has insisted that you stop and camp for the night. She says she wants to rest, but she shoots you a knowing glance once McCree relents. She can tell that you're tired, the adrenaline has warn off and you're physically and emotionally exhausted.

You sit around a makeshift campfire, Hanzo taking his turn to sleep. You're tired and can sleep any time, but you're delaying it. With so much danger in the air and following you now, it's not the most inviting idea to sleep on the ground out in the open. "When am I going to get a gun?" You suddenly ask, breaking the long held silence around the campfire. All eyes are on you, although Ana, once again, seems much more amused by you than Jesse.

Jesse shakes his head, taking a nearby stick and using it to poke the fire, the embers floating upwards from the momentary disruption to the flow of the fire. "You ain't," he responds plainly, as though you're a nagging child. "Ya' won't need one."

Raising an eyebrow, you cross your arms, although you realise quickly that this is all but invisible beneath the poncho you're now wearing for warmth. "This a joke?" You ask him. "You tellin' me that you're gonna drag me along on this godforsaken' suicide mission and you ain't even gonna give me a gun t' defend myself with?"

"Last time I gave you a gun, you shot me. That ain't happening again."

Ana almost spits up her water at this, glancing between the two of you. "Is this true?" She asks you.

"Yep," he answers for you, looking you dead in the eye. "Annie Oakleigh here shot me in the leg by accident."

"I shot you in the ass, Jesse," you correct, staring right back. "And it was very, very much on purpose."

Ana glances between the two of you, a puzzled expression on her face. "For two people who grew up together, there's a lot of tension here," she observes. "Did you not get along?"

Jesse leans back, his arms crossing, posture matching yours now. That arrogance. His trademark arrogance. "On the contrary, we were the best of friends." He smirks. "Like two peas in a pod, I reckon'."

"Yeah," you agree. "Right up until you decided to skip town."

"I told you," he warns, "I didn't skip down."

"Funny, 'cause round these parts, faking yer' own death for a year is the definition of skippin' town." You pause, stopping short of bringing up what happened when he decided to come back. You didn't want to argue about that. You didn't even want to think about it.

"You faked your own death?" Ana asks.

McCree glances to her, visibly shrinking a bit and making you wonder if she'd forgotten she was there. "Not intentionally. But when Reyes recruited me, I didn't exactly get t' say goodbye t' anyone. Woke up on the Watchpoint with a gun in my face. Don't know where everyone got the idea I'd died."

"We searched all over that train wreck, Jesse," you remind him. "All we found of you was your _arm._ Leads most reasonable people to a certain conclusion 'bout your wellbeing, that kinds thing."

"Did you go to school together?" Ana suddenly asks, perhaps to change the subject, although her tone is so genuine that it might be authentic curiosity. "I'm curious how you met."

"His pa' worked on my pa's ranch for a while," you explain. "Used t' bring Jesse with him sometimes. We'd play together. Couldn't get rid of him after that." You pause, watching Jesse carefully, trying to read his expression. He's tilted his hat to sit to you can't see his face clearly, the only thing really visible being the glow of his cigar. "When we was older we went t' school together. When he decided to go, that is."

"A ranch?" Ana repeats. "It's a shame you don't have your own horse yet. You probably know a lot more about them than any of us."

You can't help yourself, looking straight to Jesse and leaning forward a little bit. "Ya' hear that, Jesse? I'm gettin' a horse when we get to the next town."

He doesn't react, but Ana continues the conversation, not acknowledging his silence. "Have you lived here your whole life, then?"

You shrug, tilting your head from side to side. "Yeah, in the area. Moved about a lot, township to township. But never strayed too far." You pause. "The world is big, and I ain't like Jesse. I don't wanna explore it. Not when I know what kinda' people are brewin' in my own yard."

"Maybe if you stepped outta' yer bubble, you could start makin' some change in the world."

Your abdomen tenses. How dare he try and lecture you on 'change?' After all he's done to you. "Spoken like a man who's never killed a---" you stop yourself short. No. That's not right. You've let your anger get the better of you. "I ain't gonna sit here and be lectured by you of all people, Jesse." You rise from your seat, making your way to your bed roll to lay down.

Although you didn't expect to fall asleep, as soon as you hit the small raised part of the roll, you immediately fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Ana and McCree sit there for a while, quiet, Ana enjoying some tea she'd boiled over the fire. Hearing a shuffle, Ana turns to see their new friend roll over in her bed roll, fast asleep. She turns back to the fire, crossing her legs. "You should go easier on your friend," she suggests. "I imagine this is stressful for her."

"Stressful?" he repeats, leaning forward. His face illuminates in the light of the fire, and Ana can see him glancing to the sleeping woman. "Nah. An inconvenience? Maybe. But she ain't gonna lose hair over this." He shifts, maybe somewhat uncomfortably, and reaches down to the ground for his canteen. "She's been through rougher than this."

"Our idea of 'rough' is different to most people's," Ana reminds him.

McCree shakes his head. "Don't let her fool you. I mean, admittedly, I dragged her into most of it..." he pauses, his jaw tensing for a second. "Really thought she'd be smarter than to stay there, y'know?"

Ana raises an eyebrow once more. "We all have to make a living."

"Not that," he says quickly, shaking his head, finally remembering the canteen in his hand and beginning to unscrew the cap. "I mean, she's smart enough to anything. Her teacher in school told her she could be a doctor if she wanted..." he stops to take a swig from his canteen. Wiping his mouth, he continues, "guess I don't have no right t' judge, tho'."

"You absolutely don't," Ana agrees. "But I _will_  say that I like your friend very much. She's not afraid to give back exactly what you give her." She pauses, smiling to herself coyly, looking down into her cup. "It's refreshing. I think her and Hanzo will get along splendidly."

"Hanzo?" He asks. McCree scoffs, resealing the lid of the canteen. "Don't think so. She's the kinda woman to push people just t' get a rise."

Ana gives a chuckle. "So are you -- and you and Hanzo are the best of friends." She pauses, looking him dead in the eye. "She _is_ going to need a gun and a horse of her own, though. I know that you're in charge of this mission, but it's all the more reason to be fair."

He mulls this over, eventually relenting, probably in part because he knows Ana isn't going to argue this with him. If he doesn't agree, she'll do it herself. "Fine. She can have a gun. But no horse." He leans back into his seat again. "Smart as she is, she's got a temper. Don't want her riding off."

"So we're effectively kidnapping her?" Ana asks.

McCree becomes silent again, his hat lowering once more, his voice quieter now. "Wouldn't be the worst thing I've done to her."

* * *

More riding. Once again you've been told to ride with Hanzo, which you don't really mind in comparison to who else is an option. As much as you would have liked to ride with Ana, Ana's rifle takes up too much space for it to be comfortable. That leaves Jesse, and you'd rather walk than be that close to him right now.

"So," you begin, deciding to break the uncomfortable silence between the two of you. He's barely spoken a word to you since you actually started travelling, and you're bored, honestly. "How'd   _you_ get roped into Overwatch?"

There's more silence, and you don't think he's going to respond, but he surprises you. "It is a long story," he explains, "but I volunteered."

You smile to yourself, glad to be getting some conversation. "And ya' just do arrows?" You ask. "I mean, no disrespect, just unusual."

"It is traditional in the Shimada clan."

You want to ask about that further, the concept of clans fascinating you, wanting to know what this means, but you worry you might be insensitive in doing to. "How's that work out?" You ask. "When everyone else has a gun, I mean."

He chuckles a little behind you. "I do well," he replies. "The beauty of the bow and arrow is that it is quiet, especially in comparison to a gun."

"So you sneak up on 'em, huh?" You ask.

You can feel him shrugging a little. "I am often required to stay out of sight until I am needed, yes. But sometimes I am in the open." He pauses. "Are you comfortable?"

You blink, confused suddenly. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Are you comfortable?" He repeats. "I have wanted to ask, but I did not wish to antagonise you. We have been riding a long time."

You quickly perform a quick mental scan of yourself, a bit surprised by this question. "Yeah, I mean there's nothin' that can be fixed without me gettin' off this horse. Thanks for askin'."

"I am sorry that Jesse has caused you this trouble," he says, his voice lower than it was before, possibly out of fear that Jesse might hear. "He did not even tell us who you were, or that we'd be bringing you with us."

"It's alright," you reply, your voice matching his. "I've known him a long time. It's just his way. He's deceptive like that." You realise you're glaring at him as you say this, watching him ride ahead of you. "You seem 'right, though."

"I am just trying to make up for his behaviour," he offers. "Jesse... is not usually like this."

It's your turn to shrug. "We got history. 'Spose he's just as wary of me as I am of him."

"Should I be wary of you too, perhaps?"

You crane your neck around to try and get a look at him. You can just barely see him from the corner of your eye, and you try to shoot him a wry smile as you turn back. "Depends how we get along."

He chuckles to himself, smiling into the distance. "I will endeavour to remain on your good side."

Before long, you arrive at the township. Armadillo Creek. You've been here before. It hasn't been for a few years, but it was home for a few days when you were making your way to your current haunt. You glance to the saloon, wary that someone might see you from a window, someone who recognises you and might know to tell Deadlock that you've all just ridden in to town, but Jesse's voice snaps you out of it. "I say we set up here for a night. Give us time to plan our next move, rest, get some supplies." He looks to Ana. "You take her to get some clothes. Don't let her outta' your sight." His eyes fix on you and he points to you. "There's a reward at the end of all this for you if you behave yourself."

You begin to chew on the inside of your lip. If there's a reward, why did he trick you into this whole thing in the first place? You probably would have taken up with him if he'd just been upfront. Hanzo suddenly shifts behind you, and you realise everyone else is dismounting. Once on the ground, the Archer reaches up, carefully holding on to your waist as you do the same. You can't help yourself, noting his strong hands as they guide you to the ground. Ana hands the reins of her horse to Jesse before gesturing to you. "Come on," she says, the same gentle smile as always on her face. "Let's go get you something to wear."

Somehow, you'd almost entirely forgotten that you were still dressed for work beneath the poncho, and the tightness of your corset is suddenly on the forefront of your mind as you follow Ana to the outfitter's. "I don't have any money," you suddenly remember. "I left everything back in--"

"Don't worry about that," she re-assures you, stepping through the open doors and glancing back towards you. "Consider yourself an Overwatch subcontractor as of now."

The shop girl smiles up at you from her work. "Can I get you anything?" She asks. You can't help but stare at her for a second. Her blonde hair sits perfectly, pulled back behind her, the curls tight and not one out of place. Her cheeks are rosy, her face is clean, and her dress is a brilliant blue that hasn't faded a minute underneath the harsh sun. She's the opposite of what you are now, even though she manages to remind you a little of your youth in the way she's dressed and holds herself.

"Yes," Ana replies. "My friend here is in need of something more practical for our travels. Some pants, perhaps."

"Somethin' sturdy?" She asks, coming out from behind the counter. "Well, I can sew somethin' up for ya'll... but if ya'll are still travellin', 'spose ya'll don't have time..." she pauses, thinking on it. "Lemme see if I got somethin' in the back room. Reckon' I might."

With that, the shopgirl turns a corner and a door opens, leaving the two of you in the shop to browse. You walk around vacantly, glancing over the different hats and displays. Cufflinks for men, broaches for ladies. There's pork-pie hats, but not a ranch hat in sight. This place must be a bit more upscale than where you usually came to for clothes in your youth, although there were a few special occasions that would permit it, like when Jesse--

"You know," Ana muses to herself, breaking your thought pattern. You turn and see her browsing through the dresses on the rack. "I have never really been a 'dress' woman, so when I had my daughter, I worried that I wouldn't know how to shop for them with her." She pauses and smiles to herself. "I was so relieved when I realised she wouldn't be a 'dress' type, either. But it is funny -- part of me is sad that I never got to _see_  her trying them all on. How odd."

"You have a daughter?" You ask.

She nods, moving a dress up the rack to look at the next. "Yes. She's in Overwatch now, actually." There's a pride in her eyes as she says this. "It's a shame she wasn't assigned to this mission. I think you would have gotten along."

Suddenly the shop girl hurries back on to the floor, folded garments in her arms. "Found these!" She announces, somewhat excited. "We made one too many for the Midwife, she's 'bout the same size as you, I reckon." She tilts her head to another room. "Fittin' room is here."

The shop girl leads you to the fitting room and leaves you with the outfit she's picked for you. You remove Jesse's poncho, and although you move to toss it into the corner of the floor, you stop yourself, taking a second to inspect it in your hands. He still wore the same goddamn poncho he did when he came back to you last, although the fabric is a little more rough than it was before. Even though you've been wearing it for so long, you can still smell him on it, the smell of cigars and something else you've never been able to place. Something metallic. Maybe whatever oil he uses on his precious gun.

Instead of tossing it aside, you gently fold it and hang it over the back of the seat in the fitting room, taking time to look at yourself in the mirror. Hopefully Jesse's 'reward' was substantial, because your work outfit is filthy, the satin of your corset marred with dirt and dust, your little skirt ripped in some places, the lace of your gloves shredded to pieces. You give a long, tired sigh and begin unlacing the corset. You've been a working girl for years now, but the relief of finally taking off your corset never seems to get old or be any less enjoyable.

You change into the outfit, and you're a little surprised by it. The shop girl was right in that it does fit you, almost perfectly, like it was tailored for you. It's a simple outfit, black jeans and a plain, brown fitted shirt, but you're incredibly pleased with it. The shop girl has even found some boots for you. Nothing gaudy or fancy, just plain black ones, sturdy.

You step out of the change room, smiling, ready to announce your satisfaction with the outfit to the shop girl and Ana, but your face sinks within moments when you see Jesse leaning against the counter. His posture casual, his hat removed and sitting on the counter top, you know exactly what's happening here as he smiles and laughs with the shop girl. "Really?" You ask, causing her to jump. She hadn't even realised you were there. Jesse, on the other hand, merely turns his sights to you.

He looks you up and down before giving a nod. "Well, you certainly got an eye for it," he says to the shop girl. "I ain't seen her look this put together in nearly a decade."

"Jesse," you warn, your teeth gritting against eachother.

"We'll take it," he announces, ignoring you and throwing a handful of cash down onto the bench-top. "There's a little extra there, but why don't you keep it, Darlin'?" He asks the shop girl, who is blushing furiously. "Buy yourself somethin' nice t' wear and meet me for a drink t'night at the Armadillo Hotel."

Ana merely shakes her head as Jesse puts his hat back on, gently tips it to the shop girl (who is now bright red) and gestures for you to follow him. Rolling your eyes, you oblige, waiting until you're well away from the store to speak. "You serious?" You ask. "Girl hadta' be no older than--"

"Point bein'?" He asks. "I 'member a certain someone bein' more than agreeable in her youth."

You thin your eyes, ignoring the jab at you. "We didn't come here so you could ruin a bunch o' decent women, Jesse."

He turns on his heels, causing you to suddenly halt, nearly stumbling as you do. "Now, hold on," he begins, disbelief in his voice. "Ruin decent women?" He repeats. Jesse scoffs, shaking his head. "Of all the people t' hear those words from, you are the _last_  I woulda' expected. Just last time I saw you, you were tellin' be all 'bout how 'decent women' ain't a thing, and how just cause you--"

"Jesse," you interrupt. "You know exactly what I meant."

Jesse waits a beat before his mouth shifts into a wry smile. "Oh, I get it," he laughs. "You're jealous!"

"Excuse me?"

"You're jealous that I'm payin' someone other than you attention for once." He shakes his head, his thumbs hooking into his belt loops. "There's plenty of me t' go around, darlin', you know that better than anyone."

It takes every inch of willpower within you to resist the temptation to slap him in the middle of the street, but you resist the urge, continuing to walk instead. "Well, you won't mind if I sweetin' up to your friend with the tattoos then," you muse with a smile of your own as you pass him.

He turns again, this time following you. "What?" He asks. A moment passes as he tries to figure out who you're talking about. "Hanzo?" He asks. "Oh, darlin', you are barkin' up the wrong tree if you think-"

"I wasn't aware your friend prefers the company of men," you speak over the top of him. "And usually I'm such a good study..."

You don't let him respond as you walk through the swing doors of the Armadillo Hotel's saloon, smiling to Hanzo, who's waiting for the three of you at the table. "Why, Hanzo!" you chirp, loud enough for Jesse to hear. "I had no idea you were of the more masculine persu--"

You don't get to finish, because Jesse grabs you by the arm, spinning you to face him. "He _ain't_ " He growls, his voice low. "Hanzo just ain't the type to get wrapped up in _your_  kinda' head-games."

"Oh, _my_  headgames?" You ask, putting your hand to your heart. "I wonder how they are in comparison to yours? Should we compare notes?" You knew he wasn't be honest about Hanzo. Not because you could read the archer, but because you know when Jesse is trying to play you. "Now, you no good, slimy--"

Ana takes her turn to interrupt you now, effortlessly looping her arm through yours and leading you away and to the table, where you take your seat beside Hanzo, fuming to yourself and wondering how you're going to survive this trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! This is really fun to write, and your comments are keeping me motivated to push through hurdles when they arise. <3 Keep 'em coming!


	4. Once Upon a Time in the West

**_Years ago_ **  
\---

"Alright, Jesse," you begin, your voice full of suspicion. "What on Earth is this about?" When Jesse asked you to join him today, you expected that he needed your help with a horse or something. Instead, you ride to the border of what was his father's property once. You can remember it from when you were both children, although you generally weren't allowed this far out.

He shrugs as you both dismount, but his expression gives it away that he's up to something. "No big reason," he dismisses as you survey the area. The land has visibly changed since his father owned it. It was an orchard, and his father would help on the ranch in the off seasons. But the once green grass was just dust now, and little stream that used to run up here having dried out. You can't help but wonder what the new owners plan to do with the land now. "I just figured it was a good day for some target practice."

It's as he says this that you notice some cans and bottles already set up on a nearby fence, and you can't help and smile to yourself as he ties your horses leads to a nearby post. "Even after pa' gave you a servin' for teachin' me how to shoot?" You ask.

"Actually," he corrects, opening the pack on his saddle and handing you a gun, "he didn't."

Surprised, your eyebrows shoot upwards and you give a long blink. "You tellin' me my pa' said he had 'words for you' and _didn't_ scream at you until you melted?"

Jesse shakes his head, shooting you a smile. "Nope. Guess I got lucky."

"Well?" You ask, following him as he walks closer to the cans, "what'd he say, then?"

"Thanked me for my help, gave me some advice..." he trails off as he stops walking, drawing a line in the dirt with the toe of his boot. "Nothin' for you t' stress about. But uh, I do have somethin' I wanna tell ya'." You look to him expectantly, but he merely glances to the cans. "Hit two of 'em and I will."

You stand by the line and without hesitating, aim your revolver, and fire twice. You hit one, but it takes a third shot to take out the second. You look back to him, extending your hand to him for more ammo. "I'm listening."

Impressed, he laughs and gives a nod, dropping three bullets into your hand. "You been practicin'."

"And you're stalling," you warn. "Tell me."

He glances down at his feet, taking a breath. "I uh, took the Sheriff up on his offer," he explains. "Gonna be a Lawman."

"Jesse!" You laugh, beaming. "That's... that's amazing!"

"Thought you'd like that," he replies. Then you see it -- a real smile from him. Not a smug one or one full of mischief or even the one he puts on when he's putting on the charm for someone. It's a real, genuine smile. Those are like gold, and something feels... different. It's like there's a warmth in your chest and a tightness in your centre for a second. It's... nice. "There's uh... somethin' else I 'spose I should tell ya', too," he says, but nods to the cans before continuing. "Hit the rest."

There's three left. You hit the first one with the first shot, the can flying off the fence with a crack. You take two shots to hit the second can, which leaves one bottle left. You fire. Nothing. You fire again, miss. A third time. Now you're out of bullets. Frustrated, you reach out again for more ammo, Jesse obliging and handing you another six. Once you reload, you notice him stepping behind you.

"Now, hold on," he warns once you raise it to shoot again, stopping you in your tracks. "Look at the shape of it." One of his arms comes around you, guiding right arm up. "You're shootin' at the neck. I mean, points if ya' hit but, but if you lower it..." he lowers your arm a little and you can see through the sights that it's aimed at the body of the bottle now. His back is against yours, steadying you a little. "You're gonna have more to hit. Now," he says, free hand coming to rest on your hip, bracing the both of you for the kickback. "Try this."

With a crack and a high-pitched smash, the bottle shatters apart, blown to pieces by the bullet. You smile, accomplished, lowering your firing arm -- but you realise Jesse doesn't exactly let go of you, and you don't exactly try to step away, either.

A silence hangs in the air, and you wonder, for a moment, if this is just an awkward mistake that neither of you know how to step out of -- even though it feels...

He steps away, and for a second you think that you were right, that maybe it was just an awkward misunderstanding. But before you can joke about it, he places his hands on the top of your arms and gently turns you to face him, mumbling your name. Something is... different, unusual. But not wrong. Is he nervous? All of a sudden he looks really nervous. Jesse never gets nervous unless he's telling you bad news, or something that will make you mad. You mentally list off things it could be at a breakneck speed. Is he going to jail? No, he just got a job as a Lawman, so that rules out news of him leaving town. Maybe it's something about a girl. Has he gotten a girl pregnant? That has to be it.

"I uh... so your Pa'... brought up somethin' else with me," he begins, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your father? "He uh. Well... I... he told me I could... well I wanted t'..." Jesse lets out a sigh, suddenly looking upwards into the sky. "I ain't never been any good at this." He takes a deep breath and looks back to you. "I'd... like t' maybe... if you'd find it agreeable... court ya'."

Your jaw drops and you nearly drop the gun you're holding. "I..." is all you can muster as you process this. Your heart is running at what feels like a million miles an hour. "Jesse... if this is a joke..." you look to him, partially hoping that it _is_  a joke, but he shakes his head. He's entirely serious. "...You know my Pa' is gonna kill you, right?"

"He uh..." Jesse clears his throat. "He actually gave me permission. Brought it up with me and everything." He pauses for a beat, looking away. "I mean, I ain't gonna be insulted or nothin' if you wanna knock me back. Just thought that it'd... be good..."

It's taking a while for you to process and weigh this up. You've only had one man come courting before. The preacher's son barely knew you and decided to come calling after you'd agreed to help him with his horse, and he gave up on you within a few weeks. He's married now to a girl from church, and the idea of being courted wasn't anywhere on your mind, let alone being courted by Jesse McCree. Jesse, courting you? Courting at all, in fact? It's all quite bizzare. "I never knew you felt like this."

He kicks at the dirt a little, his thumbs hooked in to his belt-loops. "Well, I didn't either. Not 'till the other day. Realised how important t' me you are n' all."

So it's come to this. Years and years of friendship, lots of bickering and now... he wants to court you. In a million years you never would have imagined this even being a possibility. But now that it's here... it's not so bad. "Alright," you finally say softly, trying to ease his visible discomfort. You step towards him, placing your free palm on his chest, and gently kiss him on the cheek. "You can court me, Jesse McCree."

As you step away you notice him smiling, but he quickly tries to hide it, or at least play it down in front of you. "Much obliged," he laughs, scratching at the stubble on his jaw.

"You know this means you haveta' be nice t' me now, right?" You ask, a sly grin on your face.

He gives you an incredible gentle and playful shove as you laugh, smiling and shaking his head. "Don't go countin' on that!"

* * *

"You know," he says, watching as you cut out a slice of pie for him, "I still reckon' you should go to college, be a doctor or a lawyer or somethin'." You're both sitting on a blanket underneath one of the trees on your property, close enough to the house that your father isn't nervous about you being alone together, but far enough to give you privacy.

You look up to him as you place the slice on a plate, eyebrow raised. "You gonna hold off on marryin' me until I finish college, are ya'? Gettin' cold feet already?"

His eyebrows shoot up, and he shakes his head. "No, I didn't mean that," he insists, worrying too much that he's offended you as hand him the plate and start cutting a slice for yourself. "I mean you should go no matter what. I ain't expectin' you t' stay at home all day if we get married." He pauses, watching as you shoot him a little smile. "Don't think I'd be courtin' ya in the first place if you were that kinda' woman."

"I don't see the point in gettin' married if we're just gonna spend... what? Four? Six years apart?" You explain, plating up your own slice.

"Apart?" He asks. "Oh, I'd come with ya'."

"What'd you do, Jesse?" You ask. "They don't have Lawmen in the city like they do here... guess you could become a police officer..." you think on this for a second. "Can't imagine ya' in a uniform, though."

He laughs. "I'd figure somethin' out."

You gesture for Jesse to try the pie, watching a little nervously as he cuts off a bit with his fork and guides it into his mouth. You're not a horrible cook, but it's not exactly your speciality, either. Ever since Jesse started courting you officially, your mother has been doing her best to pass on her wisdom, even though she's been on the receiving end of more than one lecture about 'a woman's place not being restricted to the home' from you. Seeing as Jesse already has a good job, though, you've figured that being able to cook him something nice every now and then is just a nice thing to do if he's going to be earning all the money while you... do whatever you decide you're going to do.

He swallows his mouthful and smiles. "Ya' know, a few months ago, I wouldn'ta touched a damned thing you cooked. But this?" He asks, holding up another fork-full. "This is _good!_ " He stuffs another bite into his mouth, continuing with his mouth full. "They oughta' give your Ma' a job at the church, given how she's a miracle worker and all."

You roll your eyes, giving a long sigh, although you can't help but smile. "Don't talk with your mouth full," you say, your tone a little monotonous. "It's unbecoming."

He makes a face at you, but chews in silence as you take a mouthful. It's definitely better than your last attempt at a pumpkin pie, that's for sure -- but it's still not quite there. It doesn't taste awful or anything, but the spices still aren't right. You'll have to ask your mother to write them down before you try next time, instead of going off memory and an old recipe book you received during school. You swallow your bite and look down to the slice on your place, moving to take another.

"Hold on," Jesse speaks, leaning forward a bit. "Ya' got somethin' there." He reaches out to your face as though he's about to remove food from it, but you pull away instinctively. "What?" He asks, puzzled.

"It's my face, right?" You ask, unimpressed. "Jesse, I didn't fall for it when I was a kid, I ain't gonna fall for it--"

"I'm serious," he cuts in. "You got some cream on ya' face." He reaches out again and this time you trust him, albeit hesitantly. The distance between you is very little, and he carefully wipes a tiny bit of cream from above your lip. "Right there," he says quietly. First he smiles, seeming pleased with himself, but then your eyes meet and neither of you speak a word. There's that same tightness in your core, and the same heat in your chest you've felt on a spare few occasions. When Billy O'Hara told you that he had a crush on you in kindergarten. When Boyd Reid kissed you on your thirteenth birthday. When Nathan McKenzie nearly had a fit after seeing Jesse kiss you in front of him to make him jealous. When Jesse McCree held you tight in your barn, both of you splattered in blood, adrenaline running through the both of you.

You're not sure who makes the move first, but kissing him for real is much better than doing it for the attention of some idiot who has sweaty hands and can't even grow a moustache. Kissing Jesse McCree is something you wouldn't have even considered before those rustlers rode up to the farm -- ok, it's a lie, there have been times where you heavily considered it but knew better than to risk your closest friendship -- yet it feels entirely natural, as natural as reading a letter or dipping your toes into a lake. When his hand comes to cup your jaw, your heart nearly stops. Jesse's hands are course and strong from years of working with them and firing guns as a hobby, but against your skin they almost melt, entirely gentle against you like nothing you've felt before.

When the kiss finally runs its course and you pull away just enough to talk, Jesse smiles. "See, I ain't doin' so bad, am I?" he asks.

"No," you whisper, your hand reaching up to rest over the one he has cradling your jaw. "No, you're doin' pretty okay, I reckon."

* * *

 

You've known this day was coming for a while. Jennie O'Neil said she spotted him in the jewellers, and he's been different for the last few days. On edge. Nervous, even. You kept making excuses, of course, not wanting to get your hopes up -- he was obviously at the jeweller getting a new badge made or something, and he's just been acting odd because of something at work. But secretly your intuition told you to make sure you wore a nice dress and did your hair this morning. Hiding your excitement was the most difficult part. You're secretly a little embarrassed by how fast you've fallen, and sometimes you have a hard time even admitting it to yourself.

Now he's in the other room with your father, discussing something of such importance that they need to be alone. You're in the kitchen with your mother, who has a pleasant, almost knowing smile on her face, and although you know you shouldn't you still find yourself lingering by the doorway, hoping to hear _anything_ at all. Eventually she whispers your name. "Come away from there," she laughs to herself quietly. "You'll stress yourself to death."

You oblige, leaning on the counter beside where your mother is cutting up carrots. You look over the bench. A serving for... well, it's more than usual. Is she making an extra serve? You glance to the door. Is she expecting Jesse to stay for dinner? She must notice the cogs turning in your head, because she reaches out, gently resting her hand on your arm, and smiles. Her hand gives a very gentle, tender squeeze, but she doesn't speak, her eyes soft, almost with a sadness. Before you can try to read her any further, though, she returns to the carrots and the door opens.

Jesse steps through, pausing to clear his throat before glancing between you and your mother. "Can I uh..." he shifts a little. "Can I have a word with ya' outside? 'Bout some horses for work."

It's hard to withhold a smile. Usually Jesse is a better liar than this, but you play along. "Sure," you give a nod and follow him through the other room where your father is reading a book. Almost convincing, but you catch him glance up at you as you pass him. Jesse leads you down the hall and out on to the front porch, waiting for you to join him before closing the door behind you.

"I uh..." he nervously looks around. "I wanted t'ask... well... I was..." Jesse looks to you, almost pleading for help.

"Jesse," you laugh, reaching out to put your hand on his shoulder. "It's ok. Pa's not here. Ya' don't haveta' do things his way."

He exhales with relief and gives a nod. "Right, 'course ya' got it figured out already," he laughs. "I ain't ever been too good at bein' traditional with this stuff, ya' know that." He takes a second before stepping closer to you, reaching into his pocket and removing something. A small box, covered with velvet. "I wanted t' get ya' somethin' bigger. Somethin' real fancy. Somethin' so big that the girls who've been givin' ya trouble 'bout me would stop when they see it and get real jealous. So big that ya' could see it from--"

You can't help but laugh over him. "Jesse. You're ramblin'."

"Right," he replies, centring himself. He opens the box, revealing the ring inside. He's right. It's not necessarily huge, but you never wanted anything like that. Instead, the band is intricate, delicate, the filigree around the stone reminding you of little vines. "Well?" He asked. "We gon' do this or what?"

You're grinning, and you're sure your face is as red as a tomato, but you don't care. "Yeah," you reply, nodding, glancing from the ring to meet his eyes. "Let's do it."

He takes the ring from the box with one hand, snapping it shut with the other and putting it back into his pocket. You offer your hand and he slides the ring on, neither of you unable to hide the smiles on your faces. "I been savin' for it since the sheriff hired me," he admits, watching as you rotate your hand in the sun, taking in the sight of it on your hand. "I wanted t' wait until after you'd been of age for a while, but the way ya' looked at ya' birthday party last night..."

You don't let him finish explaining. Stepping forward, overcome with a strange combination of excitement and relief, you take his face in your hands and kiss him. It takes him a few seconds to realise what's happening, but soon comes to settle his hands on your waist. When you break the kiss, he gently squeezes at your waist. "I love you," he whispers. "I ever said that before? Kinda scary."

Biting your lip, you think about it. He hasn't, come to think of it. You've become so close, enough so to get engaged, but the words have never actually been spoken. "I love you too," you finally reply, heat rising to your face again, heart racing a million miles an hour. You laugh. "You're right. 's damn scary."

"Yeah," he agrees. "But damned excitin', too."

* * *

Your mother is pinning your hair up as you look at yourself in the mirror. Everything is right. Everything is arranged to plan. Today you'll get married, have your reception and then go home to the small home that the Bank Manager agreed to rent to you and Jesse for discount until you decide to move on -- either to a bigger home of your own or somewhere else while you go to college. Jesse has helped the Bank Manager getting back unpaid debts so much that he was more than happy to provide the both of you with the very generous wedding gift, giving you both a chance to settle in to married life before taking the next big step. Whatever it is. That's not something to worry about today.

But something still isn't right. Something about your mother. You expected her to be emotional, of course. It's her only child's wedding day, after all. But there's something else. "Ma?" you ask, catching her gaze through the mirror's reflection. "You alright?"

She gives you a gentle smile. "I'm fine," she assures you. "If I'm gettin' a little misty-eyed, it's because my baby girl is 'bout t' get married." She places another pin in your hair. "Can hardly believe it. House is gonna' be so empty without you and your father arguing all the time."

This makes you chuckle a little. "Jesse and I will come around lots, Ma', you known that. I'm sure Pa' and I will find plenty to argue 'bout when I do. It'll be like I never left." You watch her closely. That's not all there is. "Come on, Ma'," you push gently. "You don't have to be sad."

"I'm not," she insists. "I'm just thinkin' about how lucky you are." You raise an eyebrow at her in the mirror, your expression asking for an explanation. "You 'member when Jesse's mother passed away?" She asks. You nod slowly. He was younger. Maybe fifteen. Her death had been sudden. "And how he came t' stay for a few nights?" Her mother had told her at the time it was because her father was so busy making arrangements, but you later learned through gossip and stories that it was because his father had drank himself into a stupor and wound up in jail. "He was so quiet about it all. Didn't wanna talk about it. Was keepin' to himself no matter how much you tried to cheer him up. Thought he might turn into somethin' different after it, really. But then you cut your finger when you were helping me with the vegetables." You think back to the memory. It was a bad cut, deep enough for you to scream. You definitely cried a lot. "You were inconsolable. You were damned well convinced you were gonna lose that finger. But soon as he heard you makin' a fuss, Jesse was in that kitchen and lookin' after you -- and I saw that boy be warm and carin' to you in ways I didn't even think a boy his age could. Even after something so terrible had happened to him."

You nod. "He stayed with me until I fell asleep that night. I was so upset."

Satisfied with your hair, your mother gives it a gentle pat before placing her hands your shoulders and leaning down, her face side by side with yours in the mirror. "That was the night that I realised that boy would look after you and protect you no matter what. Your father reckon's it started when those rustlers came to the ranch, but I knew better. It started when you cut your finger open peelin' potatoes for me." She plants a kiss on your temple and smiles. "I'm glad you picked him. He might be rough around the edges, and he'll make mistakes -- big ones, too, you count on that -- but at the end of the day, he'll do right by you. Don't you worry about that."

You're speechless, and all you can do is reach up and gently squeeze at your mother's hand as you looked at your reflections in the mirror. You smile ahead, your face all made up, your hair perfect, a veil sitting at the back of it and matching the dress that your father had paid for with money he'd been sitting on since your childhood for this exact occasion. Your mother, her eyes watery, smiles at you, squeezing your hand back. This all feels a little too good for you, and yet it's actually happening.

"It's time," a voice says. The voice of your father, who when you rise from your seat gets as misty-eyed, if not more so, than your mother. When you stand before him, he takes your face in his hands, smiling gently before planting a kiss on your forehead.

You loop your arm through his and make your way through the church doors, trying to calm the hard beating in your chest as you take the first step towards the man waiting for you at the alter: Jesse McCree.

 Twenty minutes later, the man waiting at the alter becomes your husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's a twist for you. ;)  
> Thanks again for the comments! They honestly mean so much to me. You guys are the best. <3


	5. A Stranger In Town

You lay awake in your bed, frustrated. It's the middle of the night, and despite your exhaustion, you're unable to get any sleep. Every time you start to drift back to sleep, the sound of a headboard banging against the wall or a moan or a giggle wakes you back up. You want to be surprised or disappointed in Jesse for bringing that shop girl back to his room, but you honestly aren't surprised by anything he does at this point.

She lets out a particularly loud cry and you sit up. Enough is enough. You're riding out tomorrow morning and you need to get some rest, and you'll be damned if Jesse is going to get in the way of that. You climb out of bed, pulling on a robe supplied by the hotel, and open your door, fully intending on bursting into Jesse's room and embarrassing him in front of the shop girl.

However, by the time you open the door, you catch her stepping out of the room, turning back to kiss Jesse again in the doorway before walking down the other side of the hallway, probably returning home. You can't help yourself, and give a sigh of relief -- which in turn gives you away entirely to Jesse, who peeks out at you from the doorway. "Well, if it isn't sleepin' beauty, here t' judge me for seein' the sights." He makes a sound that's something half way between a scoff and a laugh, and disappears back into his room. "Pretty judgy for a hooker." His door closes, but you can feel your face heating up, your chest tightening. Oh no. Oh no he's not getting away with that. Not with the lack of sleep you've had.

You walk right up to his room without hesitation and open the door, which he's left unlocked. "Now, listen here, Jesse," you growl, crossing your arms. He raises an eyebrow at you, seeming just a little uncomfortable. "You traversin' 'round and beddin' innocent women who ain't been forewarned 'bout you is one thing, but you did that on purpose."

"Did what on purpose?" He asks.

"You were being loud and obnoxious." You roll your eyes. "I know when you're tryna' send me a message, Jesse."

He gives an incredulous scoff. "Okay, first o' all, if my lady friend decides she's havin' a good time, I can't help that. I can remember gettin' a very similar reaction outta' you back in the day." You roll your eyes at this. "And second of all, if you're gonna' stand here and berate me like some punk kid, let me put pants on first."

Only now does it dawn on you that McCree has been entirely naked this whole time. God, was he that imprinted on your brain that you're still desensitised to it? "Oh, don't flatter yourself," you reply, watching as he reaches out for his underwear, pulling it back on. "I seen it all before."

"Is this 'cause I called you a hooker instead of a workin' girl?" He asks suddenly. "I'm sorry 'bout that. I didn't mean it, my brain after I've--"

"No, I don't care about that," you interrupt. "What I care 'bout is you puttin' on this big show in front of me. What, are y' tryna' impress me, or get me back into bed with you? 'Cause one of those ain't ever gonna happen."

He scoffs and shakes his head. "You musta' hit your head since the last time I saw you, 'cause I ain't puttin' on a show for you."

You exhale, shifting your weight from one foot to another, your patience running thing. "What was her name, Jesse?"

He falls silent for a second. "What?"

"The shop girl," you reply. "What was her name? Well?"

He doesn't respond for a second, and you're not sure if he's trying to remember her name, make up a name or just come up with an excuse. "Look-"

You raise your palm, gesturing for him to stop. "I ain't even mad at you anymore, Jesse," you sigh. "Just disappointing. Man I knew never woulda' done this."

"I didn't bring you here t' make my life hard," he argues.

"Well if that's the case, you can let me go home."

It's his turn to cross his arms now. "Home?" He repeats. "Oh, okay. So where's home for you, then?" He asks. "You even got one anymore?"

These words hit you in your chest, turning your frustration into a silent, simmering anger. You don't respond verbally at first, choosing instead to lock eyes with him. He realises pretty quickly what he's said, but when he opens his mouth to speak, you get in first. "G'night, Jesse," you say quietly, turning your back and leaving his room. "Don't know how you sleep at night, but good luck tryin'."

You return to your room, leaning against the door and wiping a stray tear. This is bullshit.

* * *

You suspect that you might be the first up when you arrive downstairs for breakfast that morning, but you eventually spot Hanzo, sitting in a book by himself, a cup of tea on hand as he reads the paper. You watch him for a second, a silent study. He turns the page of the paper, reaching forward afterwards and sipping his tea. He places the cup back down with a surprising gentility before reaching up to scratch at his beard. He looks so out of place here, yet seems completely comfortable in his surroundings.

"Mornin'," you greet him as you approach the table, his attention finally breaking away from the paper. "Mind if I join ya'?" He gives you a smile and nods, and you slide into the booth across from him. A waitress quickly appears at the table, placing a breakfast menu in front of you. "Jesse's payin' for this, yeah?" You ask. Hanzo gives a nod, and you can't help but smirk, turning to the waitress. "Ok, I'll have a serve o' hashbrowns, pancakes with eggs, bacon and syrup -- and don't hold back on the syrup. Go hog wild on the syrup." You pause for a second. "Oh, and add some blueberries and ice-cream to that. Ya' know what?" You ask, smiling at her. "Make that two serves. I worked up an appetite yesterday and I wanna sate it before I hit the road. And for drinks..." you peruse the menu again. "A Bloody Mary. No. Wait. Three! Got a big day ahead of me and I wanna be good and buzzed to deal with it." You offer her back the menu and wink. "Add a 40% tip to that for yourself, Darlin'. You earned it."

The waitress thanks you and scurries away, and Hanzo merely raises an eyebrow. "Will you... really eat all of that?" He asks.

You shake your head. "No. But if Jesse's payin..."

You almost expect Hanzo to somehow disapprove of this, but he smiles, chuckling to himself. "The more I get to know you, the more your relationship with him makes sense." He pauses, watching as the waitress returns, placing three Bloody Mary's in front of you. He waits until the waitress is out of earshot and you're sipping on your first glass before he speaks again, his voice low. "Is everything okay?" He asks. "With you and Jesse?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Whatta' ya' mean?" You ask. "I trust that man as far as I could throw 'im." You pause. "But... less, 'cause I reckon' I could prolly throw him a good distance, and I don't trust him that much at all."

"It is... just that I heard you two last night." You're confused, but he continues. "I thought for a while that perhaps you had reconciled, but then you began to fight and--"

"Oh." You realise what Hanzo means. He went to bed long before everyone else last night. He probably thinks that _you_  were the one having sex with Jesse last night. "Oh!" You shake your head. "That... definitely was not me you heard." You pause. "Okay, the yelling at the end was, I went in there and gave him a serve... but that was that lil' shop girl he was with last night."

He gives a singular nod. "Ah, of course." You watch him visibly think about this for a moment. "I had expected as much."

Ana slides in to the booth, a gentle smile on her face as she waves down a waitress and orders tea. The two plates of food arrive soon after, and as delicious as it looks -- you aren't actually that hungry. So you choose to pick at it lazily. Ana notices this. "Are you going to eat that?" She asks.

"No."

Ana looks a little bit affronted by this, but Hanzo clears his throat. "She ordered it on Jesse's bill," he explains. Ana smiles to herself, giving a sigh and shaking her head as her tea arrives.

Jesse joins the table now, looking well rested despite the events of the previous evening. He doesn't sit, though, instead standing by the side of it and scratching his beard. "Really?" he asks, absolutely seeing right through your master plan.

He reaches out to steal a slice of bacon from your plate, but Ana slaps his hand away. "Don't steal food," she orders, her voice suddenly very firm and maternal. "Order your own." You can visibly see Jesse shrink back, and Ana shoots you a glance. You can't help but erupt into laughter.

And then there's a gunshot.

At first you think it might be Jesse, but when you glance to his hip, you see that he's only just ready to draw now. The patrons of the hotel launch into chaos, people screaming, some fleeing and others hiding.

Another gunshot. You cover your head and shrink down in your seat with the other three, Jesse taking cover behind a small dip in the nearby wall. "I'll cover ya'," he shouts over more gunfire. "Get upstairs and get armed!"

Ana gives a nod, her hand reaching out to grab your arm, which she tugs to guide you near here. "On my signal," she says in a low voice. Jesse reaches out and fires, and she pulls your arm after two shots. "Now!"

The two of you crawl as fast as you can to the stairs, scrambling to your feet to sprint up to the rooms as Jesse fires the other four shots. You hear one of your attackers outside scream 'holy shit, it's Deadeye!' Your stomach tighens and you feel a cold sweat. That's something you had  _never_ wanted to hear again.

You all scramble to your respective rooms, and you quickly grab your gun. You don't know how much help you'll be, but you're not going to be useless.

You turn, and find Hanzo standing at your door. "Stay here," he orders. "It's safer."

"No." You step forward, shaking your head. "I'm not waitin' here alone. You crazy?" He opens his mouth to argue, but you get in first. "I been workin' in saloons for a good long time. I been in my share of shootouts and trust me: you don't wanna be alone in a room with a window."

He stares for a moment, but then nods, tilting his head in gesture for you to follow him. That was... well, it was easier than convincing Jesse, that's for damned sure.

As you enter the stairway, Hanzo shoots an arrow, taking out someone trying to flank Jesse. You have no idea where Ana is, but there are men dropping from Sniper fire outside, which gives you a rough idea.

You take cover beside Hanzo, reaching your hand up and firing off your gun in the direction of a group of them. There was a shout, and you can't tell if you hit the guy or killed him, but you're contributing. Hanzo fires his arrow, and another man cries out as Jesse empties another full round into the group. "How many of them are there?!" You shout over the noise.

"Too many for this to be comfortable!" He shouts, reaching our and firing again before returning to cover. "Reckon' we should--"

You reach up to shoot again, but something hits you and you cry out, retreating immediate, holding your arm against yourself. There's blood, and it hurts -- a lot. Jesse shouts something, but it's too late, because Hanzo rises from cover and roars something in Japanese as he fires an arrow. What you see next is beyond your own ideas of belief.

The entire hotel is engulfed in a white and blue light, a spectral apparition before you. Two dragons move through the air, wind rising with them. The dragons twirl around eachother, entwining and charging directly at the enemy as the wind they create howls unlike any animal you've ever heard. As the dragons wash over your attackers, they drop one by one, lifeless. The dragons eventually fade into nothing, and the few who remain flee having seen them tear through their comrades as though they were nothing.

There's a silence that befalls the hotel, a mix of fear and awe from onlookers. You don't even know what to call what you've just seen. "What in the name of..." is all you can manage before Hanzo drops down beside you.

"Are you alright?" He asks. He reaches out, but within seconds, Jesse is between you, seizing your arm in his hand.

"You 'right?" He asks, genuinely concerned. He grabs your other arm, inspecting it, just in case, before returning to the one that's actually wounded. "Damnit, this is my fault. Shoulda' told ya' t' hide... Ana!" He calls. He's... panicked?

"Jesse," you snap, suddenly pulling your arm away from him. "It'll be fine." He pulls back, his eyes a little wider than usual as he looks you up and down. He eventually finds himself again, giving a grunt and standing back up.

"'Course. Shouldnta' got in the way," he replies.

"Actually," Hanzo offers, looking between the two of you, "she took down a couple of--"

"It ain't her job," he reminds Hanzo. "Her job is t' tell us where we're goin'." He gives a long exhale. "And given the troop of Deadlock soldiers that just came in here for us, we'd better get goin' to there soon."

Ana arrives by your side, immediately tending to the wound as you think about this. "Well, if we're done here, there's a cache 'bout an hour's ride out," you offer. "Prolly where these bastards all came from."

  
Jesse nods. "Once Ana's fixed you up, we'll head out. You can ride with Hanzo again." You glance to Hanzo, and the thought of that is... well, after seeing _that?_  It's pretty exciting, actually. You've always known that people in Overwatch have special abilities, but you've never actually _seen_  anything like _that_  before.

Ana wipes something over your wound and you give a sudden flinch, hissing at the sting. "You'll be fine," she assures you. "Looks like it just grazed you. You got lucky this time." She places an elastic bandage over it. "It might scar, though. Not much I can do about that while we're on the field. I'm sorry."

You shrug. "That ain't nothin'," you assure her. "Nothin' wrong with a scar or two. Just means you're tough."

You look around as she finishes tending to you. There's so many dead bodies around you. So much blood. You haven't seen this much blood since... you and Jesse were still married. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback chapter is next. I know you guys love those the best. ;)


	6. For a Few Dollars More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Awkward and uncomfortable first time sex belowwww

You smooth your hands over your slip, inspecting yourself in the mirror, trying not to freak out. The wedding was almost perfect. In fact, it would have been perfect if not for the Sheriff getting drunk and being sick outside. All things considered, though, no one was shot and everything else went according to plan, which is down right unusual for weddings around here.

Now you just have to... go to bed.

You exhale. Your mother say you down yesterday and tried to give you 'the talk' about your 'duties,' and you dismissed it all because it was both embarrassing to hear your mother tell you about sex and you'd figured you'd read about it enough in books. Yet, here you are, nervously making every excuse you can to not leave the bathroom of your new home.

It's not that you're afraid of the sex itself. You've had conflicting reports but what you've read has lead you to believe it's mostly enjoyable. No. It's that it's sex with _Jesse_. It broke a few hearts when Jesse posted your rings in town, and sent a few rumours flying as well -- the most predominant one being that Jesse McCree had knocked up the rancher's daughter. Jesse has definitely been with his fair share of women, and you're silently _terrified_ that you're going to get into that bed and... not know what to do.

It can't be that difficult, right? There are women who do it for a living, after all. But... you're chewing on your lip while you think. What if you're bad? What if Jesse is really disappointed and then realises that he's stuck with you and--

"You alright?" his voice suddenly asks from outside. "Been gettin' changed for a while now."

You snap out of it, your reality setting back in. "Y-yeah," you reply. "I'll be out in a minute." You get another look at yourself in the mirror. Your hair is down. Your white slip is clinging to you in ways that... well, it's not exactly pornographic, but it's more than you ever thought he'd see on you. You take a deep breath. At the worst, you have to get this over and done with.

You step out of the bathroom gingerly, Jesse already in bed, fidgeting with his new wedding ring until he realises you're standing there. He takes the sight of you in, and it's like you can physically feel his gaze on you. He doesn't say anything and your face grows hot. You don't know where to look.

"C-can you say somethin'?" You ask. "Anythin'?"

He clears his throat, shifting in the bed. "I uh..." he blinks. "Lost all ability to for a second there." He centres himself and exhales, patting down his hand on the empty spot on the bed next to you. "Don't stand there lookin' like a stunned rabbit," he jokes. "I ain't gonna bite ya or nothin'."

You nervously make your way over to the bed, carefully lowering yourself down to sit on the edge of it. You stop there, your back to him. "Jesse? Can I be honest with you?" You ask, waiting until he gives a grunt of acknowledgement. "This is..." you stop, and give a nervous laugh. "This is really, really nerve-wrackin'."

"What is?" He asks. He seems for a second that he might push it, but falls silent. "...Oh." He sits up in the bed, scooting a little closer to you. "Well, we don't haveta' if it's botherin' you that much. You know that."

"No," you shake your head. "I want to. I just..." You look up at the roof. "I ain't done this before and I'm not gonna know what t' do."

There's a silence that you think is awkward, but Jesse suddenly chuckles, much to your surprise. "I expected as much." He shifts himself directly behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Look, how 'bout," he begins, planting a kiss on your neck, "you let me lead and we take it nice and slow," another kiss, this one just below where your ear meets your neck, "and if you ain't feelin' right 'bout anything, we'll stop." His hands snake up to your waist, his fingertips gliding over the satin and holding you gently as he moves to the other. "Ok?"

As nervous as you are, this is... nice. You nod your head and he kisses at your neck again, his hands giving your waist a gentle squeeze, his fingertips brushing over your hips. His lips trail up to your jaw, and you voluntarily twist yourself around just enough so that he can reach yours. His kisses are gentle, and you start to notice his hands rising up, feeling the curve of your waist. You and Jesse have definitely wasted hours kissing before, but he's never had his hands on you like this. It's... good. It's going something to you. You want to be closer.

His hands slide up to your breasts, and you can nearly feel your heart jump out of your chest. No one has ever touched you there before when you were wearing regular clothes, let alone in just a slip. A noise comes from the depths of his throat, something low, like a soft groan, as he feels them in his hands. You don't hate this, either. It's new, being touched there, such a delicate spot in such strong hands. You find yourself twisting even further to meet his kisses until you turn entirely, Jesse backing up, you on your knees on the bed and facing him, neither of you breaking the kiss.

His hands move to the bottom hem of your slip and he pauses. "May I?" He asks. You give a silent nod and he continues, pulling it over your head and arms. You're entirely naked, which should be sobering to you, but it's not. It's only making you feel... more of whatever this is you're feeling right now. "God, you're beautiful," he says before kissing you again, this time pulling your body against his, pulling you into his lap. His hands are all over you, your breasts against his chest as your arms hold on to the back of his neck, not wanting to let go of him. One of his hands moves between you, lowering and lowering until...

You gasp when it makes its way between your legs. Another spot where you've never been touched before. You make a noise... a moan? Oh, you've read about those, and it's just slipped right out, and the way Jesse kisses you afterwards makes you think he liked hearing it. He starts moving his finger in little circles. Ok. This feels _really_ good. You're so glad that he's done this before. You gasp his name, and next thing you know you're on your back, underneath him, the blanket discarded. Of _course_ he's been naked this whole time. You try not to stare too much -- you've never seen one... well, you've seen a penis before, sure. You've seen them in books, and you caught a glance when passing drunk men stumbling out of saloons or urinating in the street at night. But you've never _actually_ seen an erect one before. It's kind of sexy, honestly, for a reason you can't quite describe. The size of it, however, is making you anxious. But then you see the way he's looking at you and it could set you on fire. Being desired this much is... is...

"You wanna keep going?" He asks. You nod, and he seems somewhat relieved. "It's gonna hurt a little. You know that, right?" You nod again. You know, alright. You know about it and it's been plaguing you since the wedding reception. "Not too much, though," he assures you.

"You uh," you glance away, your face is burning. "You done this with virgins before, huh?" you ask. Your voice is so quiet that you're surprised he can hear you at all.

Jesse nods, brushing some hair clear of your face. "Yeah. It'll be 'right, though." He nudges your legs apart gently and you're suddenly incredibly flustered. He doesn't look, but his hand travels back down, feeling, his fingers grazing around _that_ part, sliding through the wetness. You watch, holding your breath a little as he positions himself, leaning over you, his hips touching yours. He'd be laying on top of you if not for his arms bracing on either side of you.

He kisses you, your hands making their way to his shoulders, just resting against him. Was he always this muscular? It's like you never realised how physically strong he was until now. Then you feel it -- something resting against your entrance. It almost feels hot, but it feels right.

"Ready?" He asks? You give a silent nod and open your legs a little wider. One of his hands vanishes beneath, and you can feel him guiding himself and--

You can't help it, you let out a whimper. This feels wrong. You know it _isn't_  actually wrong, and you knew this wasn't going be to wonderful from the get go, but you didn't imagine... it hurts. It's hurting. Oh god. "Ah!" You give a yelp, completely unused to this, and you find yourself gripping to his shoulders. It feels like something is ripping, like something is tearing apart and--

"Hey," he coos, his voice gentle, bringing you back to the moment. You totally didn't realise it, but your face is all scrunched up and you were still holding your breath. He's visibly concerned, but has stopped moving entirely. "Breathe. I gotcha'." His voice sounds like he's holding something back, and he waits for you to give him a nod before he continues, pushing further into you. It really does hurt, and the fact that it's in such a sensitive and precious spot is filling you with a sense of urgency about it... "Still?" he asks.

You grimace and nod. "Yeah, just..." You shift your legs a little, thinking it will help. It does, but it's barely noticeable. "Ok. Keep goin'."

So it starts. He's very slow with you, gentle, his breath heavy, his body hot in a way you've never felt on another person. You're doing your best to tough it out. It's meant to feel this bad the first time, right? Every now and then a sound will escape your throat, a little whimper or a groan, and every time it does, Jesse holds on to you a little tighter. He's trying so hard to keep it gentle with you--

And then it happens. It stops hurting and something... changes. All of a sudden a moan escapes you and your eyes close. It feels... good. Not great. Not earth-shattering like you've read it would be in some of your books, but good. You must visibly relax, because Jesse smiles, leaning down to kiss you and speeding up his pace a little. You raise your legs a little to allow him more access and - "Ahh!" You let out another cry. You had no idea that you'd feel it that far up and you're not sure if you like that. Your nails dig into his back and he... well, he makes some kind of noise, it sounds a little like a growl. He must like that?

He's faster still, and although you're enjoying it, you realise as time goes by that you aren't going to experience those big fireworks everyone seems to talk about. Jesse, on the otherhand, seems to be having the time of his life. "I ain't gonna last much longer," he admits, voice breathy and low. "Are you--"

"Please," you whimper. Your legs are tired. You're sweaty. Your back is strained for some reason. "I want you to."

"Can I..." he pauses to grit his teeth. He's holding back, alright. "On you?"

You nod and he kisses you, his thrusts becoming harder. Within moments, they turn erratic. He pulls out of you quickly, and before you can even look, he lets out a groan that's almost akin to a roar and you feel something warm drop on your abdomen. More and more of it. You both stay still for a moment, both of you breathless until it dawns on you that you have cum on your stomach. "Uh," you begin, pausing awkwardly. "Can you..."

"Yeah," he breathes, reaching to the bedside take and grabbing some tissues. He gently cleans up the mess he's made, delicately wiping it off you, doing his best to not smear it or leave residue. "Sorry 'bout that, Darlin'," he says before tossing the tissues in the little wastebasket in the corner. "Didn't wanna knock you up." He smiles. A joke. You smile back. "Not right away, anyway." He lays down next to you and you turn onto your side to face him as he grabs the blanket and pulls it back over the both of you. "You alright?" He asks.

You smile and nod, not quite sure what to do with yourself all of a sudden. This is so weird. You've never felt this... out of place with Jesse before. "Was I uh..." you pause, clearing your throat. "Was I good?"

He smiles, the genuine kind that makes you feel a little like jelly when you see it, and plants a kiss on your forehead. "Perfect, don't you go worryin' bout that, it ain't what it's about," he assures you. You want to press that, find out what he means, but he continues. "It's always kinda' awkward your first time, I reckon'. 'Specially for you girls." There's a pause. "You uh... want me to take care of you?" He asks. You raise an eyebrow to ask for an explanation, and he merely glances downwards. "Y'know... I got mine."

"Jesse?" You ask, your face burning again, "I think I've had enough of that tonight, if y'don't mind." You pause, something crossing your mind. "Now hold on," you playfully slap your hand against his bicep. "Who the hell else did you... 'deflower?'"

Jesse raises an eyebrow. "Well, there was Marlene Dunlop--"

" _Marlene Dunlop?!_ " You repeat, a little hint of outrage in your voice. "The _preacher's_ daughter?!"

You stare at him, mouth agape in shock as he starts to laugh. "You didn't know?

"'Course not! Jesse McCree, you sly little--"

He laughs over the top of you, finding this hilarious. He reaches his arm around you and pulls you against him as he laughs. "I thought you knew!"

You shake your head, feeling him laugh against you. "Her 'Pa woulda' killed you if he'd found out," you warn. Suddenly your eyes widen. "What if you'd gotten her pregnant?! Jesse, you do the dumbest things--"

"I didn't did I?" He assures you, squeezing you. "And ya' didn't let me finish." He smirks when he sees the displeasure on your face. "There was Marlene Dunlop, Lilly Dwyer, Amelia... well, she's an Archibald now, but what was she at the time..."

"You're disgustin', Jesse," you joke, rolling your eyes, unable to help but fall into his charm a little as he laughs again.

He shrugs, kissing the top of your head. "I gave 'em a good time. Ain't everyone willin' to wait."

You look him in the eye. "Jesse, young girls... they get really wrapped up in--"

"Woah," he butts in. "I didn't make 'em no promises. They knew I wasn't gonna stick around. I was honest. ...Specially with Lilly Dwyer. Her brother scared the livin' daylights outta' me back in the day." He pauses. "Not as much as her 'Ma, though." He shrugs again as you come to rest against him more. "Think it's what they preferred, honestly. I ain't the kinda' guy you marry."

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Jesse?" You can't help but smile when it dawns on him what he's said.

"You know what I mean," he corrects. "I wasn't."

You nod your head in agreement. "You ain't wrong. Sure they wanted to," you point out. "Those last few years of school, girls'd start chatterin' whenever you came callin' t' see me." You playfully walk your fingers up his chest. " _Look! It's Jesse McCree!_ " You mimic, your voice going an octave higher. " _I hear he robbed a train! My Ma' says he ain't one to be triflin' with! Well, I think he's handsome and rugged!_ " He smiles as this as you put your hand to your heart. " _Yeah! I bet he just needs the love of a kind woman!_ " You raise an eyebrow. " _I reckon' he's had his share of women -- he must be quite the lover!_ "

You let out a faux giggle and Jesse bursts out laughing, holding you against him again. The sex? You can pass on that. But this? This is nice. You could get used to this.

* * *

Jesse sits at his little desk in the Jail. He's on watch today, and he's passing the time by doing some budgeting. It's been three weeks since the wedding. Things are starting to settle down and fall into a pleasant routine -- and it's making Jesse uneasy.

He was already making enough to care for them, and was making enough for them to live comfortably after the Sheriff gave him a raise as a wedding present. Enough to start a family, if they wanted to. But Jesse has something else in mind first. He doesn't want her to settle there. He wants her to go to college, like she wanted to originally.

He's sent off some letters, enquired with some colleges, just quietly so he can figure it out himself. He's the man of the house, and his job is to provide for her. He has no problem not having a single cent beyond what he needs to survive if it means she can go and be the best she can, so she can be to everyone else what she is to him.

But, from the looks of it, college is incredibly expensive -- and the really good ones won't take payment plans. If they spent their dowry on it, they could cover the first few months, which would give Jesse more time to save... but there's no way she'll allow that. She wants that to buy a home of their own one day, or should they have a baby...

Jesse shakes his head and rubs the bridge of his nose. Even with the extra money from the promotion, he won't be able to afford to send her for at least two years. Twp years is a long time, and he's worried that she'll lose steam or give up before then.

"'Scuse me," a voice asks, snapping him away from the price list he was stressing himself over. A figure steps through the doorway. A man, probably in his thirties, a dirty suit and a mouth hidden under a moustache. "You the Sheriff?"

Jesse shakes his head, hand instinctively moving to rest on his pistol beneath the desk. Strangers asking for the Sheriff rarely means anything but bad things. "'Fraid not," he replies. "Sheriff's off the job for the rest of the day, unless it's an emergency."

The stranger smiles, taking another step inside. "I 'spose you might be the man I need to speak to, then," he begins, approaching the desk and taking a seat. He offers his hand across the desk, "name is Samuel Dirk. Most call me Sam."

"Jesse McCree, Deputy," he replies, taking his hand and shaking it.

"Deputy McCree," Sam repeats, giving a nod and sitting back in his seat. "I find myself in a difficult and somewhat embarrassin' position, and I'm wonderin' if you can help me out here." He waits for Jesse's posture to relax a little before continuing. "I'm here representing' a little group group called Deadlock, a purveyor of specialist goods, many of them quite exotic and of high value and importance. Now, I had this little ol' town ear earmarked to be a big part of my newest trade route," he explains. "Figured we can get our goods onto Route 66 much faster if we cut through here insteada' goin' all the way through New Prosperous."

"'Course," Jesse agrees. "Honestly, we'd welcome that. Would bring some more business into town."

Sam gives a nod, but frowns for a moment. "But there's a... problem." He shifts in his seat, leaning forward onto the desk with his arms. "Some of the contents of what I'm shipping... are... frowned upon in this county." He clears his throat, watching Jesse carefully. He's reading his reaction. "Now, if you were to, say, turn a blind eye and sign off on the shippin' permit for this jurisdiction of yours, we'd be happy to keep the shipments regular." He smiles, leaning back. "With us we'll bring our business. Lots of tired travellers needin' beds, food, produce. Lots of trade for this lil' town of yours." He waits a beat before giving Jesse a nod. "And there'd be somethin' in it for you from our... 'union.' Think of it as a token of appreciation for your help and... for your help and your discretion."

Jesse sits in silence, his arms crossed, his face dark as he thinks. Every part of him is telling him to refuse this man and chase him out of town. This goes against everything he's worked hard for -- this job, the promotion, the good will that he's been rebuilding...

But he spies a woman out the window. The Mayor's wife. She's well to do, passing the jail, basket full of fresh vegetables and produce, her dress immaculate and more expensive than anything Jesse's wife probably owned. Her husband provides all of that. She never wants for anything. Never has to work. Only has to keep a social calendar and enjoy her hobbies. That's the life Jesse wants for his own wife. One where she never has to worry. One where she has a college education.

"How much we talkin'?" He asks.

* * *

"Jesse," you gasp. "This is beautiful!" You almost skip out of the bedroom, modelling the gift for Jesse in your small living room. It's an emerald green, made of fabric more expensive than anything you've touched in a long time spare for your wedding dress. You turn, gazing at your reflection in the mirror, marvelling at your silhouette. He's even bought you the right undergarments to go with it, corset and all.

He smiles, eyeing you from his chair. "Was hopin' you might. The dressmaker in that shop you're always lookin' at is somethin' else. Still had your measurement from your weddin' dress."

"I love it!" You smooth your hands over the fabric and smile, but then something dawns on you. It's bespoke. That's... "...Jesse, where did you get the money for this?" Even with his promotion at work to Deputy and the accompanying raise, this would still be an unreasonable purchase.

"Well," he begins, watching you, the smile still there and setting you at ease. "I took some of the money from the raise and made some investments." He shrugs, his smile having blossomed into a smirk. "Guess I got lucky."

Your cheeks hurt from the size of the smile you have on your face. "Jesse, that's wonderful!" You're not exaggerating. This is possibly one of the most responsible things Jesse has ever done.

He shrugs. "Well, I just wanted to make it easier for you," he explains. "Figured I'd give you a chance t' study for them college entry exams without having to worry 'bout finances." He pauses for a beat. "I'm the man of the house, after all. Gotta step up."

You make your way over to his seat and take his face in your hands, kissing him suddenly. God, you love him so much. He's come so far from the teenager starting fights in the Saloon and spending days in lockup for public drunkenness. He has a good job, he's respected, he provides for the home... and he's your husband. "Promise me you'll invest it wisely? This is quite the future you're buildin' for us."

He smiles and nods. "Promise."

You kiss him again, his hands rising to meet your own. Your husband would never lie to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. I promise they'll have good sex eventually. ;) Don't stress.  
> Sorry for any errors here. I haven't slept in 24 hours so I have lost all boundaries.


	7. Viva Maria!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Grief. But on the bright side -- CW for good sex, too!

_Years Ago..._

\---

You're still unsure of when you were or what you were doing exactly when you found out your father had died. Jesse was the one to tell you -- you processed that much. Sudden. Your mother found him by the horses. Doctor said it was probably a stroke and that it would have been painless. Knowing your father didn't feel any pain when he died is probably meant to comfort you, but it doesn't help at all.

It's been difficult for you to get through it. You're coping better than your mother, at least. She's different now. Something in her is different, changed. Can you blame her?

Still, though, when she told you that she wanted to sell the ranch, it came as a shock. Now you stand in your living room, trying to convince Jesse to talk some sense into her. "I ain't askin' you much, Jesse," you stress, "Ma' will listen' to you. Maybe if you talk t' her 'bout this, she'll realise I ain't just bein' emotional."

To your frustration, he shakes his head again. "I already told you," he says carefully. His tone is firm, but he's treading with incredible amounts of caution. "I ain't gonna do that."

"Why?" You ask. "We can handle the ranch, Jesse. You won't even haveta' worry 'bout it, come t' think about it. I can do everything my pa' did -- and it ain't like he never hired help when he needed it. You can keep workin'--"

"That ain't why," he interrupts. He pauses, clearing his throat, readying himself for something. "I think your ma's right. I don't think you should take it over."

You fall silent, blinking, jaw agape in surprise. "'Scuse me?"

He puts his hand up, gesturing you to wait. "Now, let me explain myself 'fore you start throwin' things." He waits to make sure you're willing to listen before he continues. "It ain't that I don't think you could do it. You'd make a great Rancher if that's what ya' wanted. But I think there's better things out there for ya'." He waits to gauge your reaction before he continues. "And what happens when we start a family?" He asks. "I'm all for ya' goin' out and workin', but Ranch work ain't somethin' ya' can do when you're pregnant."

"So I'd hire someone else until the baby was born," you dismiss.

"Sure. But I know you. I know you'd spend the whole time stressin' 'bout everything unless you were directly doin' it yourself. And what about when that baby comes?" He asks. "What are you gonna do? Hire a nanny?" He pauses. "And don't say ya' would 'cause I _know_  you wouldn't." He's right. You've discussed this before, when the Mayor's Wife invited you around for tea after it came to light that Jesse's investments are bringing more money into town. He's sort of influential now that you think about it. "I ain't sayin' you need to focus on having a baby or anythin', I'm sayin' that I know you and I know that you'd be unhappy after a while." He crosses the room and places his hands on the sides of your shoulders, giving a gentle squeeze. "You got so much more in ya'."

Again, Jesse isn't wrong at all. Until your father had passed, you were studying for college entry exams. You decided to put that off until next year, though. There's too much to worry about right now, and you couldn't leave your mother for college like this. "I just don't think Pa' woulda' wanted this..."

He gives you a gentle smile, his hands running down your arms to hold yours. "Now your pa' and I didn't see eye-to-eye on a lot, but the one thing we always agreed on was on your smarts." He locks his gaze with yours. "I think your Pa' woulda' wanted this."

You look away and exhale. "I think Pa' thought he was gonna' have another few decades in him." There's a long period of quiet after this, Jesse waiting for you to think this all through. If your mother sells the ranch like she wants, she'll be able to buy herself a house closer to town that she can keep herself and have extra to look after herself for a long time. After that time you suppose you'll have been to college and you'll be working, and between you and Jesse, supporting her will be easy. "Ok," you relent. "I'll go over t'morrow. Help her put it up for sale."

He kisses your brow, letting you find your way into his arms. "I know this is hard, Darlin'. Ain't quite the same, but when my old man lost the homestead it felt a lot like this." He pauses. "'Cept the bank just up n' took it. Never had this kinda' responsibility on me 'bout it."

"Well," you say, a gentle smile on your face, trying to find a silver lining. "I'll keep an eye out for our own house while I'm at the realtor." The money your father has left you is enough to buy your own home with the help of Jesse's extra investment money.

"You let me know," he says with a smile. "Long as it's got a big enough bath tub, I'm a happy man."

You raise an eyebrow. He keeps insisting on having a larger bathtub than the one you already have. "Why're you so insistent on a bigger tub?" You ask. "Ours is just fine."

Jesse gives a laugh at your suspicions. "I'm just a man who likes himself room t' move in the tub. That's all."

"And here I am worrying about making sure we got a nice number of rooms and a sturdy kitchen." You roll your eyes, but then you pause. "Jesse?" You ask.

"Yessum?"

"I was... thinkin'..." you pause and take a breathe. You had thought about this, but you didn't exactly intend to ask him about it. Not for a long time, anyway. "When we find us a new, bigger house, and we got the room... maybe... well if I'm waitin' a year t' try and get into college..." his eyebrow is raised in confusion. You continue anyway. "I was thinkin'... maybe we could try to have a baby." His eyes widen, and you quickly go on before he can interrupt you. "I mean, we don't gotta _try_ or nothin'! But I was thinkin' maybe we could just... let things take their course and see if it happens or not."

It's his turn to take a breath now. "Darlin', that's... I mean, I want nothin' more, you know that!" He says with a laugh. "If it was the right time, I'd have ya' on that bed right now and workin' on it with ya, don't you worry 'bout that." His smile fades a little, though. "But you got other stuff happenin', 'member?"

You expected as much. Once again, Jesse isn't wrong. You really want to go and study, and now that you're selling the ranch, you've got all the more reason to go through with it -- even if you have been thinking about a family. You've been thinking about it a lot, actually. The idea of finding something locally and getting started sooner rather than later doesn't sound bad at all -- but you have things to do first. You tilt your head up and give him a kiss on his jawline.

At least a home of your own is a step in the right direction.

* * *

 

"Millie?" You ask as the woman makes a beeline for you in the street. You've just collected some paperwork to be signed before the deed for the new house can be put in your name, and you were on your way home when you heard someone call your name -- your maiden name. "Millie Scott?" You break into a smile when you realise it _is_  her. "Millie, I thought you moved to New Prosperous!"

The old friend greets you with open arms, taking you into a warm hug. Millie was a good friend of yours in your early teens -- her mother and yours were close friends, and you often spent a lot of afternoons together passing the time with gossip, picnics and boys. Well, Millie was always the adept one when it came to boys, anyway. She's a few years your senior and always seemed miles ahead of you. You more or less stood back and tried to learn from example. The jury is still out on if it worked or not. "I did," she explains, pulling back and holding you at arm's reach for a moment, looking you up and down with a smile on her face. "But I heard they needed a midwife out here now that Old Lady Simmons has started forgettin' her own name, and Lester reckons this area is right for prospectin', so here I am! Got back a few days ago."

"You're a midwife?" You ask, taking your turn to study the effects of the gone by years on your friend. Her stature is the same, and you honestly wouldn't have thought she'd aged a day if not for the way she dresses and does her hair now. The Millie that moved to New Prosperous with her somewhat surprising choice of husband was a fan of the flashy, exciting dresses that he could afford her at the time -- which was probably a larger factor in her choosing of him. But the Millie that stands in front of you is much more understated, her dress relatively plain in a muted green, spare for what seems to be a valuable broach. Her hair, which she almost always seemed to wear down, even after getting married, is tied back in a braid. It somehow makes her seem even younger, honestly.

"Sure am. Finished my apprenticeship bout a year ago, fully certified now." She waves her hand dismissively. "But never mind _that._ " She suddenly reaches for your hand and inspects the ring. "Why, bless my stars! When I heard that you'd done married Jessie McCree? I thought someone was havin' a laugh at my expense!" She releases your hand and smiles. "I can't believe it!" Millie reaches out and gives you a congratulatory pat on the shoulder. "Good for you, tamin' that one! How'd you manage that?" You open your mouth to explain, but she stops you. "Ah! Don't say a word. We are goin' and havin' some tea right now and you are gonna' tell me how you did it -- in _detail_. My treat."

Before you can even process this, Millie loops her arm through yours and leads you to the little diner. It's good to see her personality hasn't changed.

* * *

"So that's where I was today," you explain, placing your teacup back on the saucer. "Once this is filed and settled we'll own our own home."

"My, my, my," she begins with a smile, "I am quite impressed! If you'da told me that Jesse McCree would be a Deputy and buyin' his first home with money from his investments like some kinda' big city man back when I was still here? I'd have called for a Doctor because obviously you woulda' had some kinda' delirious fever!" The two of you laugh at this. It's nice to have Millie back. You've had friends other than Jesse, of course, but few as open and vivacious as Millie.

You nod and lift your teacup again. "Well, I must admit, I do get asked how I ended up settlin' on Jesse more than I think I care to."

She scoffs as you take a sip. "Well, that's obvious," Millie says dismissively. "I'll admit that I did spend a lotta' time thinkin' bout what he was like in the bedroom." You all but spit out your tea at this, quickly throwing your free hand up over your mouth as she laughs at your reaction. "C'mon, tell me!" She whispers, leaning in across the table, even though you have a private salon to yourself care of her husband's bill. "What's he like? I bet he's real passionate, like in one of them books we used to sneak out to read."

"Millie!" You laugh, finally coming up from air having avoided choking on your tea.

"What?" She watches as you set down the teacup. "We're both married women, Mrs McCree," she begins, smirking a little as she uses your married name, "ain't no shame in discussin' marital matters with eachother." You hesitate and she gives an amused shrug. "I can tell ya' all about Lester if ya' want. He does this thing where he grabs my--"

"Alright!" You cut in, scrunching your face up a little. As much as you still feel like you can share with Millie, you don't really want to think about Lester without pants on, either. "Alright, I'll tell ya'. Geeze."

Millie leans her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands, smiling with wide eyes and making a display of how intently she's listening to you. "Tell me all 'bout it," she says. "I bet that man knows how t' take a lady to the moon and back!"

You shift in your seat a little. "Well, I don't know 'bout _that,_ " you begin. "But it's... well, the first time it was... awkward."

"Everyone's is, honey," she agrees.

"That's what I figured." You give a shrug and absently begin to stir your tea. Anything to divert your eyes from making contact with Millie's. "Sometimes it feels good. But most of the time I just like bein' with him--"

"Hold on," Millie cuts in. " _Sometimes?_ " She repeats. "Honey, it ain't meant to feel good sometimes. It's meant to feel good _all_ the time." She pauses. "I really thought that him, of all people..."

You shake your head quickly. "No, no, it ain't like that!" You insist. "Jesse is very... Well, he tries. He really does! I just don't think I can... do what... other women can do, apparently."

Millie isn't buying this, her left eyebrow so arched that you almost can't see it under her bangs. "Oh, you can do it," she assures you. "Trust me." Millie pauses and thinks on it for a moment. "He ever... take care of you down there?" She asks.

"Down... down there?" You repeat, your face suddenly flushing. Millie doesn't seem at all phased, though, so you tell yourself you're flushed over nothing. "Well, I mean, he touches me and gets his fingers--"

"No," she cuts in yet again. "I mean with his mouth, honey." The expression you give her must speak volumes and she gives a decisive nod. "Well, next time you just agree that before you go down on him, he's gotta return the favour." She frowns. "Had to play it a lot harder with Lester, but I think your man might be a little more open t' it given his previous adventures."

It takes you a minute to remember how to speak while Millie sips her tea like this is nothing at all. "When I..." you take another second. "When I _what_ on him?"

She freezes entirely, her cup half way between her and the saucer. "Oh, honey," she finally says, her voice soft, full of genuine compassion. "Honey I had no idea that you were so..." she takes a second to find a word. "...Uninformed." She places the teacup down and squares her shoulders. "I'm gonna tell you what I wish someone had told me a long time ago: there ain't a lotta places in this world that a woman can be in charge like she can be in the bedroom." Millie pauses for a minute to let that sit with you, a punctuating silence. "Believe me. I know it sounds intimidatin', but you'll never look back." She waits for you to speak, but you're still dumbstruck. "Best way to get into the swing of it the first time is t' surprise him," she explains, throwing you a bone. "Don't just wait for bedtime. Seriously surprise 'im. He'll worship the ground you walk on if he realises you're takin' charge of the situation -- men are easy like that." She pauses and chuckles to herself. "I still 'member the look on Lester's face when he found me naked in the back of his wagon before he went pannin' one day," she recalls. "Thought he was gonna get down on one knee and ask me t' marry him a second time."

You clear your throat. As uncomfortable as this has made you, the seed has been sewn, and part of you is thinking of hypothetical ways to catch Jesse off guard. "You've certainly given me a lot t' think about, Millie," you laugh, still blushing. "Guess that hasn't changed."

"I'm always happy t' share with anyone else in the pursuit of knowledge," she replies. Millie pauses, thinking for a moment. "Seein' as you ain't applying for any of them fancy city colleges for another year now, why don't you come along with me on one of my rounds one day?" She asks. "It'd look good on those applications of yours. Heck," she muses, a smile on her face. "If ya' like it enough, I can even take ya' on as an apprentice. It ain't college, but ya'd be certified in a year or so, should you be inclined to change your mind."

You open your mouth to assure her that you're set on going to college, but you find yourself holding back. "Thanks, Millie," you say with a smile. "Comin' along on a round sounds interestin'. I just might take ya' up on that."

* * *

"Darlin?" Jesse calls, hanging up his jacket and looking around the room for you. "I'm home!" Odd, he thinks, that he can't hear or see you anywhere. Ever since you've moved in to your new home, you've been busy decorating the rooms and setting things up. But you're nowhere to be seen. Maybe you've decided to decorate upstairs today...

"I ran you a bath!" Your voice calls from the bathroom. "Water's warm, so be quick!"

Jesse smiles to himself and makes his way to the bathroom. He's had a long day at work, and a bath is just the thing he needs right now, especially in the new, big tub that came with the new house. He wonders if other men are lucky enough to have wives so considerate of them---

He opens the bathroom door and freezes entirely, his mouth agape, his eyes wide.

You sit in the tub, a smile on your face, your legs lazily hanging over one side of it, bubbles and water covering the rest of you from vision. As out of your comfort zone as this is, you can't help but find this... weirdly thrilling. You watch him for a few moments, waiting for him to speak, but he doesn't. "Well?" You ask. "You joining me or what, _cowboy?_ "

It's a miracle that Jesse doesn't trip over himself as he rushes to get undressed, stumbling a little when he gets to removing his boots. He doesn't want to take his eyes off you at all, and that's definitely not helping him right now. You try your best to stifle a giggle, although you're unsure of how successful you are.

You push your back against the back of the tub when he finally climbs in, his back to you, your legs either side of him. "There," you sigh, resting against him, your chin on his shoulder and your breasts pushing against his back. "Thought you could use somethin' nice after work, given how this week has been and all."

"Darlin?" He stops to clear his throat. "This is _better_ than nice."

You try to think of something witty to say, but your brain fails you. Instead, you decide to go ahead and take the lead, your arms reaching around either side of him. Your left arm holds him like an embrace, but the right...

He's already hard when your hand grips him under the water, causing him to inhale sharply. Kissing along the back of his neck, you start to pump at it, slowly and gently first, but as he begins to audibly react and tense you increase the strength of your hold and the pace until the water is slapping against the sides of the tub with the movement. He gives a groan, suddenly stopping your hand and turning himself around until he's looming over you in the bath.

He kisses you in a way that would make you think he hadn't seen you in years and loops his arm around and under your back, as though to help you out of the bath. "I gotta have you," he growls, the gravel in his voice making you feel about the same, "right now, Darlin'."

He kisses you again and attempts to move you, but you stop him, your palms resting against his chest. Here it comes. The moment of truth. "Jesse," you whisper, your gazes locked, a powerful heat between you. "This time? I'd like t' try somethin'."

You pauses, and you worry that he'll reject you, but his face lights up with a grin. "Now if that ain't just the best thing I ever heard in my life," he says before pulling at you again, this time successfully getting you to start pulling yourself out of the bath. You quickly towel eachother off, a rushed process, if not a pure formality, before you lead him to your bedroom.

You back him up to the edge of the bed until he takes the hint, falling onto his back. You've never done this. You've only read about it before. But Millie has assured you it's a thing and as you climb on top of him it feels entirely natural the way he enters you. "Holy shit," he pants as you sink down on to him, marvelling at how such a small change has made it feel so different.

Placing your hands on his chest for stability and inadvertently pushing your breasts together (which you're sure Jesse is thrilled about,) you start to move your hips, rolling them against him, not worrying for any certain technique or or how you look, just going with what feels good for _you._ And boy, does it feel _good._ You let out a moan, but not like the little ones you make when Jesse is fingering you, no. This is loud and it comes from somewhere in your chest -- and hearing yourself like that is just making it feel even better.

You start to ride faster now. It feels so good, and you need him more and more, with an urgency, a desperation. It's not long until you're leaning down, kissing him, your chest against his as he thrusts up into you and oh god it feels like there's something white-hot inside of your pelvis that seems to be radiating all the way into your chest. You're moaning and crying out with every thrust now, Jesse's breath heavier and heavier, he's close. But so are you. "Oh god," you gasp. "Oh god, Jesse," your mind is racing and you're operating on base thoughts, most revolving around how the man beneath you is fucking you. "Harder," you beg, and he obliges you instantly, his hands reaching to grip your behind as he fucks you so hard that you'd be worried he'd hurt you if it didn't feel this good.

And then it happens.

You've had an orgasm before. You're a human being with two hands a love of books, after all, and the fear of god that church tried to instil in you was never enough to stop you. This, though? This is... something new. Your hips buck on top of him and you can feel yourself tightening around you. The noises that come out of you are uncontrolled, your face buried in the space between his neck and shoulder as you grip the fabric of the pillows other side of his head, Jesse digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs as he joins you over the edge. The pleasure surges all the way up into your throat like a bolt of lightening, and you realise that Jesse didn't pull out this time but it's okay because it feels even _better_ this way because his cum is so hot inside you.

Eventually it winds down, the two of you a sweaty, heaving, gasping mess. It's two or three minutes before either of you says or does anything, Jesse making the first move and kissing you with the last of the fire left in him for what you assume is the day.

You reach a shaky arm up and brush your own hair out of your face, finally getting a clear look at him. He's grinning at you with what you can only describe as his 'love face,' the one reserved for when his world is centred around you and only you. "What got into you, huh?" He asks. You quickly give him another kiss, a quick and gentle one.

"Nothing," you exhale. "I think it was in me all along."

Jesse runs a hand through your hair, a rumble coming through his chest as he makes a sound somewhere between an exhale and a groan. "Goddamn," is all he can say.

Another minute passes and you decide you should probably move, slowly shifting yourself off him, feeling the wetness and stickiness between your thighs as he pulls out of you, reminding you that he finished inside you. You consider trying to make a smart remark about it, but decide against it, your head still too foggy in the post-orgasm glow to really articulate anything witty.

You fit against him perfectly, your head resting on his chest and his arm coming to look around your waist. "God," he sighs, exhausted, his eyes closed, "I love you."

"Mmmm," you smile sleepily. "I love you too."

Even though it's only six at night, you fall asleep like that. Before you drift off entirely, you make a mental note to take Millie out for tea.  
Your treat this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I know I was doing alternating flashback and current chapters but this just happened so I went with it. Figured it'd be a nice way to make up for the last one being such a downer.  
> Next chapter is going to be VERY HANZO. Wow. Such Hanzo. Very dragon. Much arrow.


	8. The Oil Prince

You can see their cache from here -- a small, ugly, run down farmstead in the middle of nowhere. The gates are shut, the house is boarded up, it's clearly not in use. Not that Deadlock really have to hide their activities these days. Law enforcement can't really touch them.

"Alright," McCree says once you hitch your horses nice and far away from the property, out of sight and mind. "If this one here is correct," he begins gesturing to you, "there's gonna be a lot of information and documentation in there 'cause they use that house as a dispatch." He gestures to Hanzo. "Stay close, on the defensive while I pick 'em off. Ana?" He asks, squaring her attention. "You know the drill. I'd dare say a few will come crawlin' outta that barn once we start makin' noise, but try to give us a boost if we need it. I know it'll be difficult once we're inside but see if ya' can break in a window or somethin' once the coast is clear. And _you,_ " he says, gesturing to you. "Stay by the horses. Don't move. Stay outta' the way."

You can't help but laugh at this, not because you think it's a joke but because it's so dumb that you find it funny. "I don't think so."

Jesse does a double take. "'Scuse me?" He asks. "You're gonna stay here and that's final. We ain't got time to worry 'bout you while we take care of this."

"And what?" You ask, another laugh in your voice. "Wait for a couple'a strays t' find me while they run away from you? Take me hostage?" You pause. "Or maybe they'll just kill me? Who knows? I can prolly' hold off three with the gun you've given me, but any more than that and I'm in trouble."

Jesse falls silent, his jaw tense. He knows you're right -- so does Ana, evidently, by the way she's giving that quiet smile with pursed lips. "Well whatta' you suggest we do with ya', then?" He asks. "If you're so smart?"

You look around the group for a moment, the answer seeming obvious. "I'll stick with Ana," you suggest. "Provide her with cover while she covers you from afar. Means she can concentrate more on shooting your slow ass with them fancy medical bullets of hers. God knows you'll need it with how clumsy you are."

You glance to Hanzo and can see him looking down quickly, kicking the dirt a little with his foot, possibly to hide a smile. Before McCree can open his mouth to argue, Ana butts in. "That would be very helpful." she agrees.

"Fine," he snaps. "She can be your problem, Ms Amari." He gives a loud exhale. "Get her set up with comms. We gotta hit this soon." He gives a huff and approaches his horse, re-stocking his on-person ammunition supplies.

Ana shakes her head, gentle patting you on the back. "I am sorry he is so rude to you," she offers, her voice soft as she watches him. "He is not usually like this -- although I am sure that you know that."

You give a shrug, reaching out and opening the small pack you have on Hanzo's horse. "Trust me, if anyone knows what it's like tryna' get that man t' admit he's wrong, it's me." You laugh to yourself. "Honestly, sometimes I think I deserve a medal."

"Most women do," Ana jokes, approaching you and, to your surprise, reaching out to brush your hair behind your ear. "Here," she loops something over your ear, something settling into it. "This is a comm-device. You can communicate with us all this way."

You reach up and touch it, feeling how small it is. It's probably nearly invisible on you. "This sure is... fancy," you remark with a smile. You've seen them before on some of your clients, but usually they're a lot more noticeable. "Guess there's a lot of perks t' bein' in Overwatch, hey?"

She shrugs, giving a smile. "There are advantages, yes," she nods. "We are lucky enough to have some of the best scientists available." She pauses, watching you for a moment. "I think you would get along with Winston, actually. He loves making fun of Jesse as much as you do." She waits for a beat. "Well, maybe not as much as you, but he's close, anyway."

"When we get more time," you ask, watching her as she moves back to her pack and gathers her things, "will you tell me more 'bout it? Overwatch, I mean?" She glances to watch you as you explain. "It's just... I always wanted t' know more 'bout it." You know you need to explain why, but you don't want to sound... like you're complaining about Jesse again. "Jesse came back a few years ago." Ok. It wasn't a few years ago. But you're trying to put it gently. "After he left it that time. I ain't gonna pretend t' know the politics." You do, actually. Everyone knows it was shut down a year or so after he left, but you know that he chose to leave. Said there was something 'broken' about it. "He told me a little 'bout it. I know 'bout some guy called Reyes, and he mentioned someone named Angie sometimes... but he never told me 'bout anyone else. Don't think he wanted to."

Ana smiles, giving a nod. "Of course," she agrees. "I even have pictures."

* * *

"No survivors?" You ask, stepping over a body as you come into what looks to be the 'office' of the house. It was a short fight. They had numbers but you managed to surprise them, and Jesse knew their patterns much better then they knew his. He was always good at that. You got to throw a rock through a window at one stage so Ana could aim her sniper rifle through it, which you secretly are very proud of and was very excited to do.

Jesse shakes his head, looking over some papers on the desk. "C'mere," he grunts, gesturing to you, not taking his eyes off the documents. "Any of this makes sense t' you?" He asks as you come to his side, looking at them yourself.

The majority of the papers are hand-written, although there's a few telegraphs and short typed messages. Most of them are just inventory and orders. "Hmmm..." you inspect one of the orders closer. "I mean, I heard of these places," you offer, "but unless you wanna hit up every single cache they got..." you pause. "Wait. This one here, care of Wicker? This is meant to go to Pinkerton." You think over your head quickly. "That ain't a place."

"Yeah," he agrees, pointing to another. "This one is meant t' go to Carnegie. Unless a new township popped up in the last ten years that I didn't map out, I don't think there's a place, either."

"And this one is meant to go through..." you trail off, your heart sinking. "This one goes through Little Justice, but in the notes they keep referring to it as Beauregard's Peaks." There's a silence. You were hoping to never hear the name Little Justice again.

He gives an exhausted exhale. "Never was no good with their codes," he grumbles. "We can try and send this back t' base, but by the time they crack it, Wicker could already be half way to France for all we know--"

"France." Your eyes widen. That's it! You run over to the wall, pulling the map down that was pinned to it and laying it out on the desk. You take a pencil from the small pen holder on the desk and circle around New Justice. "'Member Mayor Swanston's wife?" You ask. "She was French!"

"What, the stacked one?" He asks. You roll your eyes.

"Yes, Jesse, she had big ol' titties." You shake your head. "But her Maiden name was Beauregard." You write the name 'Beauregard' over the town of Little Justice. "I mean I don't understand the 'Peaks,' not like there was ever any mountains nearby..."

Jesse chuckles to himself. "Mayor Swanston's wife always did have an impressive set of peaks on her."

The groan you give is loud enough to cause Hanzo to stick his head in and watch as you frantically shuffle through the papers. "Dirty jokes aside," you snap, "I met a Lorelei Carnegie at one of them social balls one time, and she married a boy from New Prosperous who ended up becomin' Mayor." You scribble Carnegie above New Prosperous. "Jesse, these are the maiden names of the wives of the Mayors!"

You shuffle through more papers, scribbling down the names you can remember as you go. Jesse smiles, shaking his head. "How in god's name did y' know all this?" He asks.

"Didn't have a lot else t' do, Jesse," you mumble. "What, while you was out--"

"So what 'bout this one?" He asks, speaking over the top of you. "You meet any Pinkerton ladies at your afternoon teas?"

You frown, thinking over this. Jesse's position in town before things went to hell meant you met a lot of important women from the surrounding counties, but you can't ever remembering anyone named Pinkerton. "No," you exhale. "I don't think I did. And such an unusual name? I woulda' 'membered that..." You pause, wracking your brain for answers. "But if you can get me to a township with a records office or somethin', I can 'prolly find out."

Jesse scratches at his beard. "Next township isn't too far. We can get there by t'morrow if we stop t' rest." He gives a decisive nod. "Right. We'll head out for Ogdenville."

* * *

"So," you begin, watching Hanzo re-string his bow at camp that night. Ana and McCree are both sleeping, leaving the two of you to keep watch. "Jesse really never told you 'bout me, huh?"

Hanzo shakes his head, his expression honest. "No, he never did."

"Really?" You muse. "Ain't you two like, best friends?"

You watch him nod, setting the bow down, satisfied with his work on it. "I cannot say that is a term we have ever used... but yes. We are close." He eyes you for a moment. "Hence why I was so surprised when we came to meet you. I had thought perhaps you were just acquaintances, but given the way you speak..." he pauses for a moment, thinking, before giving a decisive nod. "I do not mean to pry, but am I wrong in assuming that you and Jesse were closer than friends?"

Crossing one leg over the other, you internally debate weather you should tell him or not. Usually you'd just tell whoever asked to mind their own business, but there's something about Hanzo and it gives you the gut feeling that you can trust him with select information at the very least. "Once upon a time, yeah," you admit. "A lot closer."

He scratches at his bared shoulder, shifting where he sits. "Ah, I understand, then." He smiles at you as he says this. "I can also assume that I don't have to tell you that my friend has a great difficulty admitting when he is wrong."

You give a snort of laughter, a little surprised by the little jab at the sleeping cowboy. "No, sir," you laugh, "you do not." You watch him carefully as he chuckles to himself, trying to read him a bit. There's something so... genuine about him. Especially in comparison to Jesse. When it comes to Jesse, everything is a game, every word another move until one of you is in checkmate. But this guy... "You two are an odd couple, if ya' don't mind me sayin' so," you observe.

"What do you mean?" he asks, leaning forward a bit, clearly interested in what you have to say.

You shrug. "Well, you just ain't the kinda' person Jesse would have run with when I knew him." You pause, glancing to the back of the sleeping man, who had laid himself down behind a rock when you complained about the way he snores -- like it would make a difference or somehow make you feel bad.

"He has changed. I know Jesse was once... trouble," he admits, "but he has changed. He tries to be better."

You fall silent, looking away, swallowing the urge to grill him about this. He tries to be better? Better than what? Of course he'd say that. He has no idea exactly what Jesse did to you, what he did to your entire life. "Does he?" You ask quietly.

He clears his throat. "I am sorry," he says, his voice soft. "It is wrong of me to say that to you without me knowing your entire story." You blink, looking back to Hanzo, genuinely surprised. That was genuinely considerate.

"I uh..." you purse your lips for a second before giving a nervous laugh. "I'm sorry, I wasn't expectin' that. Thank you. That's very kind."

Hanzo raises an eyebrow. "Why not?" He asks.

How do you even put it politely with someone you've only really just met? How to you broach it without telling him the full story of how every man in your life but your father took advantage of you, or hurt you, or used you? You don't. "Maybe I'll tell you one day."

His smile is just short or knowing. It's an understanding one, and it's oddly soothing. "Only if you decide you want to," he says.

"I feel like we're always talkin' 'bout me," you begin, reaching back and letting your hair down. It's been up all day, and letting it down relieves your scalp after such a long period of it being pulled on. "Tell me 'bout you. Where you from?"

Hanzo is quiet for a moment as you shake your hair free, enjoying the feeling of breeze hitting your scalp as it relaxes. Is he watching you? Surely not. "Hanamura," he finally replies. "My clan has resided there for centuries, and my brother and I were no exception."

"What's it like?" You ask.

He falls silent again for a moment, gazing into the fire this time, deep in thought. "The air there is sweet," he begins. "It always has a scent to it. In spring it's the blossoms, in Summer it's the smell of fresh barbecue... when it rains in the warmer months, the streets will start to steam and the scent is indescribable." He smiles fondly. "But it is something else in Winter. The way the snow falls and seems to gently dust whatever it touches -- it looks like sugar."

"Snow..." you lean forward, having listened to every word. "I ain't never seen that before."

"Is that so?" He asks.

You shake your head. "Nah. 'Round these parts it just gets cold and windy and muddy. I mean, I've _seen_  snow, but I ain't never actually seen it with my own eyes. Just pictures and stuff, ya' know?"

"You have never left here?" He asks. You shake your head. "A shame," he muses. "You are quite intelligent. I think you could do great things with the world."

"Yeah, well," you shrug dismissively, "this part of the world was pretty good until the rest of the world got its paws on it." You give a long exhale. "Didn't really want to see it after..." you trail off. "...It's a long story." You pause for a second, locking your eyes with his by accident. "...Hanamura don't sound so bad, though. The people there good?"

He chuckles. "You will find good and bad people everywhere," he explains. "Hanamura is no exception."

"You'd protect me though, right?" You immediately realise how this must have sounded, glancing away, quickly trying to think of a way to save it. "That uh, is to say that you seem pretty alright."

"I..." he hesitates for a moment. "...Am not without my faults, either," his voice is a little dark as he says this, and you wonder if you've offended him. "But yes," he agrees, his voice returning back to the way it was before you went and made it weird, "I would do my best to keep you from trouble." Another pause, followed by a smile as he glances to you again, almost sheepishly. "Unless you _wanted_  to find trouble, that is."

This elicits a laugh from you. "You think I'm that kinda' girl?" You ask.

"I... do not think I will answer that," he replies, "for my own safety." There's something nice about his laugh. He seems so serious when you're on the road or discussing the mission that seeing Hanzo so relaxed is... refreshing. Unexpected, almost. And honestly? You can't help but admit it's also very attractive. He's not that bad to look at, really. Where most of the men around here are rough and coarse, he's different. Where they're pieces of broken driftwood, he's refined, smooth oak. He's strong and grounded. It's hard to find around here. It's a shame that he's such good friends with Jesse. Maybe you'd consider turning on your charms if he wasn't.

The two of you continue to talk through the night, your discussion ranging from deep and philosophical to playful and carefree (often at the expense of the snoring Jesse McCree.) As the night passes and the shifts swap, and you crawl into your bedroll finally able to rest, you secretly look forward to riding with him tomorrow morning.

* * *

Ogdenville has certainly grown since the last time you were here, and you can't help but marvel at how quickly the town has grown as the three of you walk through the main street, your horses hitched and housed at the local corral. Some people stare as you pass, but most of them are just taken by the sight of Hanzo before going on with their day.

"Library ain't open 'till t'morrow," Jesse begins as you come up on the hotel. "So we're gonna haveta' bunk here tonight. Good chance to restock on essentials, get a good feed, see if we can get any more information."

You open your mouth to speak, but a voice calls from across the road. "'Scuse me, Miss!" A gruff voice calls, approaching you. You and Jesse glance to eachother as he approaches, glancing ear to ear. "If you ain't just a sight for sore eyes!"

He tries to take your hand to kiss, but you pull it away. "You know him?" McCree asks you.

You shake your head. You might, but he certainly didn't make enough of an impression on you to be memorable, anyway. His face is weathered by the sun, skin like a tarnished leather and his beard a mess. He grins, his teeth crooked, one of them gold, and laughs a breathy laugh. He reeks of alcohol. "Yes ya' do!" He insists. "We spent a night t'getha' bout two years back," he insists. "Oh, ya' charged me an arm and a leg fer' it, but you was worth every penny!" He steps forward again and you step back, visibly disgusted. Oh god. It's an old client. You did come through Odgenville a few years ago, and you'd been busy enough that you didn't really remember all of your clients... "I ain't ever had my little man sucked like that--"

"Watch it," McCree warns.

"Ohhh," the man laughs, nudging to McCree. "Sorry, Sir, I didn't mean t' interrupt. But this one," he says, looking you up and down in a way that makes your skin crawl given the current company you're keeping. "Ain't no one here got a pussy fresh as Clementine! She's the kinda whore you only see once in a blue moon."

Usually this wouldn't bother you. You've been a working girl for god knows how long, and this wouldn't be the first time some drunk idiot has accosted you in public. What's bothering you is that it's happening in front Ana and Hanzo, and especially McCree. It's embarrassing in front of them, but in front of McCree it's downright humiliating having someone disrespect you. "I don't know what you're talkin' 'bout," you growl through gritted teeth, hoping that he'll take the hint.

"Here," he says, reaching into his pocket. He offers you a handful of coins. "When this one is done with ya', reckon' ya' could give an ol' customer like me a simple ha--"

He gives a cry and doubles over, and you suddenly realise that at some stage, Hanzo had managed to get behind him and bend his arm backwards. People in the street immediately begin to stop and pay attention as the man cries out in pain.

"Apologise to the Lady," Hanzo orders, his voice firm. He puts a little bit of pressure on the man's wrist, causing him to cry out again in a panic. He's not playing around.

"I'm sorry!" He shouts, his voice noticeably higher.

"Sorry for what?" Hanzo asks.

"I'm sorry for d-disrespectin' her!"

His grip tightens again. "Do not apologise to _me,_ " he orders.

The idiot looks up at you, his eyes wet with tears. "I'm sorry!" He sobs. "I'm sorry for disrespectin' you, ma'am!"

Hanzo looks to you, waiting to see if you're satisfied with this apology or not. Unsure of what else to do, you give a quick nod. Hanzo returns your gesture with a nod of his own, looks down at the man, and in one swift movement slams his free hand down against his back, throwing him to the ground and knocking the wind out of him. "You are beneath her," he warns the man, stepping over him. "You would be wise to not even _look_  at her again."

Shocked and a little dumbfounded, you glance to McCree, who is already walking away towards the hotel with Hanzo like it's a non-event. Looking to Ana, she merely shrugs, making you wonder if Hanzo does this often. "Come on, dear," she exhales, putting her arm around your shoulders and leading you away from the pathetic heap that is crawling away desperately. "Before Hanzo changes his mind."

* * *

"You wanna take a hostage?!" You ask. "Are you insane?!" You both stand by the small table in McCree's room, a map and documents spread out over it.

"Whoever we find at the next spot will probably have more answers than dispatch summaries," he explains. "I don't see why this is an issue for ya'."

Scoffing, you shake your head. "You really think a member of Deadlock is gonna tell ya' the truth?"

"It's the best bet we got," he replies. "'Sides, I got a way with the little guys in Deadlock. I'm sure they'll be more than willin' t' help me if I get 'em a pardon."

You give a groan, throwing your head back, entirely frustrated with this line of thinking. "You can't trust Deadlock, Jesse."

McCree rolls his eyes now, pausing to light a cigar. "Wasn't aware you were the expert on 'em."

"Oh, really?" You ask, voice dripping with sarcasm. "You got the gall to suggest I don't know nothin'? After everything?"

"After everything?" He repeats.

"Yeah," you cross your arms, suddenly wishing you had backup. Ana was napping and Hanzo had retired to his room for whatever reason, so Jesse had asked you to help him try and decode more of the map. His mistake had been telling you the plans to take a hostage. "After everything you put me through."

McCree gives an exasperated groan and brings his fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut. "Here we go," he sighs. "Again with the victim card."

You freeze solid. "You can't be serious."

"I know things didn't work out," he begins, shaking his head. "I know that, and I already apologised for it not workin' out. But you gotta' move on. We don't got time for this right now."

Shocked and speechless, you stand there with your mouth open and eyes wide for what is probably a full minute. The anger bubbling up inside you is one that you can't even begin to describe. "I know you're tryin' real hard t' look tough in fronta' your friends," you warn, your teeth gritted together, voice low, "but they ain't in this room right now, so you're gonna take that back right now, you understand me?" You step towards him, closing the gap between you so that you can fully express the severity of your feelings without shouting at him in a way that would alert the others. "It wasn't a case of it 'not workin' out,'" you growl. He puts out his cigar in the ashtray on the table, making you think that he's preparing for you to hit him. "You know _exactly_  what you did."

He's silent for a second, his face dark, and you think he's about to shout at you or storm out of the room. Instead, he suddenly picks you up by the waist and backs you to the wall, not removing his hands at all, pinning you in place with a grip that's firm enough to show he's being serious, but gentle enough that you could absolutely escape if you wanted. "For once in your goddamn life," he begins, his voice lowering to match yours, "not everything is about you right now, ok? So you're gonna calm down, you're gonna behave yourself and you're gonna help us fix this Deadlock problem, you understand?"

You can tell he's trying to intimidate you, and while you know he's attempting to play on the fact he's changed since you last spent time with eachother, you know for a fact that he would never even think of laying a finger on you. You look him dead in the eye, not moving, not flinching despite the red hot anger and emotion between you and the mere inches apart that your faces sit. "You might think you changed, but you ain't," you growl. "You're still the same. I'm still the same. And I _still_  ain't gonna take orders from a piece of work like you."

Something between you sparks. You don't know what end it started on, yours or his, but the spark ignites the tension in the room and the next thing you know you're kissing each other like neither of you have touched another human being in decades. You're both frantically trying to get every inch of yourselves to press against the other, your arms looping up around the back of his neck as he hoists you against him, your legs wrapping around him so he can lift and carry you straight to the bed.

He doesn't drop you onto the mattress bed instead falls onto it with you, both of you frantically trying to undress each other as soon as your hands are free. You've managed to unbutton his shirt and have your fingers working his belt buckle when he whispers it. "I almost thought this wasn't gonna happen," he whispers as you unbuckle it, his lips taking yours again for a moment. "Had me worried, Darlin'."

You stop moving, pushing Jesse back when he doesn't get the hint immediately and continues kissing down your neck. You study his face for a moment in silence, frowning, before pushing him off you entirely, moving away from under him and sitting up on the edge of the bed. He watches you in confusion as you silently shake your head and rise, stepping away from the bed, beginning to button up the few shirt buttons he'd managed to open.

You watch him, wondering if he'll dare to say anything, but he doesn't. "This never happened," is all you say, your voice flat before you turn and open the door, leaving the room.

You need to take a very, very long walk, far away from Jesse McCree. You almost fell for it again. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that is a blatant Simpsons reference and yes I PROMISE THAT NICE THINGS ARE COMING FOR THE READER. I PROMISE YOU. JUST HANG IN THERE IT'S JUST AROUND THE CORNER AND YOU GUYS ARE GOING TO _LOVE IT_
> 
> Also did anyone else watch the Westworld finale? Holy fuuuuuuuuuuck I have not felt that satisfied by TV in like, half a decade. Suck my dick, Game of Thrones. That's how you do TV without relying on cheap tropes and shock value.
> 
> Keep those comments coming though. They fuel me. That and the fact I'm garbage -- but *mostly* the comments. <3 Love you guys.


	9. The Ecstasy of Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: Sex. (Yay!)

It's a harvest dance.

You haven't seen one of these in... nearly a decade. Not that they've ceased to exist, but rather that you've just tended to avoid them. The last time you went to a dance, you and Jesse were still married, and you were trying to...

You stop yourself, watching from the street. Best not to think about that right now. Not when you're still so raw about what happened in Jesse's room. You don't even know who to be angry at, Jesse for thinking that was going to happen, or yourself for almost falling for it. You were so angry that you stormed off out of the hotel and have been walking around town by yourself, looking at the stores, seeing the little bits and pieces of Ogdenville you couldn't see when you were working here.

Now you lean on a railing, watching the dance in the town centre. It's dark now, the square lit by streetlights and candles here and there, music playing as the townspeople dance and celebrate.

"You're welcome t' join us," a random lady says as she passes you in the square. "You ain't gotta be a local t' celebrate."

"Oh," you reply with a smile. "Thank you, but I'm happy watchin'." You pause, wanting to make a joke about being a bit old for dancing, but withhold, instead settling to give her a kind nod of acknowledgement as she moves on to speak with someone else.

There's a young couple that have caught your eye. While most of the young people are dancing, they're off to the side, talking, the girl laughing while the boy smiles to himself. You don't take your eyes off them when the familiar figure of Hanzo steps up beside you. "Here t' take me back?" You ask him. "I ain't runnin' away, just... needed space."

"I know," he replies, matter-of-factually. "I'm not here to do any such thing," he assures you. "Tonight, when you didn't join us for dinner, Jesse told me you had a fight."

You chuckle to yourself. "That's an interestin' way of puttin' it."

"If it is any consolation, I think he is being too hard on you."

You don't respond to him right away, watching the young couple again. She gives the boy a playful nudge and rolls her eyes as he laughs, making you think he'd just told an off colour joke. "They'll get married soon," you muse. "He ain't stopped lookin' at her all night."

"You think so?" He asks.

"I know so." You give a sigh and relax a little more onto the railing. "You married, Hanzo?" You ask.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Have never had much time for those kinds of relationships."

You shoot him a glance. That's a surprise to you. There's something so... well, the care he's given you and the kindness he's shown you would have had you think differently. Then again, you suppose that you don't have to be married to a woman in order to be nice to them. Sometimes you forget that. "Colour me surprised," you finally reply, looking back to the couple. "Reckon' you'd make a good husband." You pause. "...If that kinda' thing interests you, I mean."

Hanzo smiles and shakes his head, not needing to think too hard for what you'd asked him without asking him. "Over the course of my life I have been involved with my share of women," he explains, a fondness in his voice. "As the head of the Shimada clan, there was a great pressure for me to marry well. One day I decided to resist it entirely." He looks to you, meeting your line of sight with his own as he continues. "I was unable to know if those who pursued me were interested in me or if they were interested in my family position." The girl gives a cackle and both of you look back to the young couple, who are doubled over in laughter at something the boy has said. "So I focused myself on other things."

You shrug. "Probably a good idea." You laugh to yourself. "Can't say my experiences have been wonderful." You watch as the boy leans in to whisper into the girl's ear, her face flushing after a few moments. "Hope it all works out for them, though." There's a long pause and you look downwards, focusing on your fingers. There's a question you want to ask him. It's been bugging you. "Hanzo?" You ask. "You and Jesse are good friends, right? Have been for a while?"

He gives a nod. "Ever since I joined Overwatch, yes."

"Has he..." you pause, scratching at your nose, making an effort to look at just about anything _but_ Hanzo. "...He ever... have female company?"

Hanzo gives a shrug, tilting his head to one side. "I don't think I have to tell you that Jesse--"

"I ain't talkin' bout little flings," you interrupt. "Not short little trysts like the shop girl. I mean... more serious."

You can almost feel Hanzo's gaze settle on you for a moment before he finally responds. "There have been a couple, yes," he admits. "For a while there was a girl he would see," he explains, speaking slowly, gauging your reaction as you take it in. "In Dorado. We had helped rescue her from Los Muertos..." he trails off as you roll your eyes.

"Wow," you scoff sarcastically. "What a big hero." You exhale. "And the other?"

Hanzo pauses for a moment, and you think for a moment he might not tell you. Eventually, though, he speaks, his voice noticeably lower. A secret. "Our medic, Dr Ziegler," he begins. You know that name. "For a while they..." Something in your expression must be displaying that you already know what he's about to say, because he stops. "It only lasted a few months, though. She is very professional. Felt it was getting in the way."

You mull over this, before giving yet another exhale and looking upwards at the stars, trying to figure out how hearing this feels. You're not sure what you expected. Of course Jesse had moved on. "Jesse... came back t' see me a few years ago," you explain, rolling your shoulders, trying to feel less tense. "After Overwatch got broken up, after the Omnics. First time I'd seen him since..." you trail off. "Well, I'd thought he was dead. Ya'know." You shake your head. "He uh, talked 'bout her a lot, 'Angie,'" you say with a shrug, finally pushing yourself off the railing. "Seems like a nice lady."

He's eyeing you, reading your expression, frowning a little. Or, well, it's not so much a frown as it is deep thought. "If I may ask," he says carefully, "you and Jesse were...?"

You debate telling him for a second. You kind of want to. You imagine it might come with some relief, knowing that someone else knows exactly how hard this is. "...Let's just say that we were very close," is what you settle with. There's no need to explain it further. It'll complicate things. It'll make them treat you differently. It'll remind Jesse that he thought he had some kind of power over you once upon a time. Most of all, though, it'll mean you have to revisit it entirely... more than you already are, anyway. "I know he's your friend," you say quietly, "I'm sorry we keep fightin'."

Hanzo shakes his head. "Please, do not apologise," he insists. "Jesse is... not himself around you. I will not pretend to know what happened or what it meant, but I am glad you stand up for yourself."

"Jesse has been a dick," you declare.

Laughing, he nods. "Yes. He has indeed." He looks to the couple, who have finally decided to dance. A slow dance. "Have you seen the lake?" He asks. "I visited it before when I was looking for you."

"Ah," you say with a smile. "So you _were_  lookin' for me, then?"

Hanzo shrugs, returning your smile with a knowing one of his own. "I thought, perhaps, that you could use a friend."

For the first time in a long time, you find yourself without a witty reply. Actually, you're struggling to find a reply at all, really. Instead, when Hanzo gestures for you to follow him, you do so without hesitation and hope that it will suffice.

* * *

 

"I wanted to thank you," you say, sitting on the grass by the lake, the streetlights in the distance and the moon giving off light, "for today. With that... fella' who was bein' rude. You didn't haveta' do that. But ya' did."

Hanzo shrugs. "He was being disrespectful. Think nothing of it." He pauses for a moment, eyeing you from the corner of his eye. "Although..." he shifts a bit, clearing his throat. "If I may ask? Who is 'Clementine?'"

Laughing, you shake your head. "Clementine is the name I use when I work."

"I hope you are not usually subject to that kind of behaviour."

"Nah," you say, leaning back on to your hands. "Most of my customers are nice enough. Sure, they put on a show in fronta' their friends, act all tough... but once you get 'em in the room?" You smile to yourself. "They're like butter. I mean," you shrug, "sure, I get bad ones every now and then. But most of 'em? They ain't so bad."

He's watching you now, a curious expression on his face. "When they're bad... do they ever..."

You look at him, your eyebrows raised. "Those who try? They tend t' leave missin' pieces they had when they walked in. Guess that's one thing I can thank Jesse for," you say dismissively, looking back out to the water. "Teachin' me how t' defend myself."

"He did?"

You give a singular nod. "Taught me how t' shoot a gun when we was just teenagers. Never thought a woman should rely on a man t' defend her, guess I can give the man that."

There's a long silence before he speaks again. "I imagine..." he begins, pausing again. You're beginning to notice that Hanzo knows when to speak with caution. That, in itself, is a rare trait around here. "...That this has been difficult for you," he offers. "You are someone with a great deal of willpower, and for someone from your past to all but force you into such an undertaking... I am sorry." His apology is firm, definitive. He means it, and for a moment it stuns you.

You shake your head quickly, a smile on your face that you hope is at least passably genuine. "You don't gotta be sorry," you assure him, your voice light. "This ain't so bad. "I get free food for a while and I got t' meet you and Ana..." You chuckle a little. "And believe me, this is far from the worst thing Jesse's done t' me."

He glances to you before finally settling into a smile of his own. "I am glad to have met you, also," he says. "You are..." he doesn't so much trail off this time as he does stop himself from continuing, his brows tensing a little again. "...I like having you around." There's something about the way he's speaking now that seems... unsettled. Not right. Like it's not natural, like a band-aid stuck over something else. But you don't want to push it. "It is late," he finally says, moving to rise from the grass. He stands, offering you his hand. "Come, I should get you home before Jesse thinks you have killed me." There's a little spark of something playful in his eyes as he says this, helping you off the ground.

The two of you walk back to the hotel, something about the conversation and the air in the town making you feel like you should be arm in arm and exchanging coy pleasantries rather than talking about life back on the Overwatch base. A Watchpoint, they call it. After a time, though, and when you begin to close in on the hotel, you begin to realise that you aren't so much interested in the Watchpoint itself as you are in listening to Hanzo talk. There's something about the way he speaks to you, the respect he shows you even though you haven't known eachother for very long and you're positive that Jesse has been making you out to be a demon when your back is turned. There's something to him that makes him feel like he's from another world. In a way he is, you suppose, not just physically but mentally. The people you live around are rough, hard and thick skinned. You have to be in order to survive, really. He's something else. Quick-witted with different speeds for different people, a hard surface to a stranger but a warm fondness for a friend.

Eventually, you come to the door of your room. You've been so enthralled in listening to him that you didn't notice that he's walked you right past his room and to your own. "This was nice," you say, your key in the lock, turning it. "I needed it."

"Is that so?" He asks. In any other situation you would have just responded plainly and left it at that, but his expression asks for more.

"Yeah, it's uh..." You stop yourself short of opening the door, pursing your lips. "Can I be honest?" You wait for him to nod affirmatively before continuing. "I mighta' lied a little back there, when you were sayin' this must be hard." You glance away, realising how exposed you feel all of a sudden. "It has been... very hard," you admit. "I mean, bein' 'round Jesse this whole time..." you pause and take a deep breath. "We gotta' lotta' old wounds."

He nods. "Knowing Jesse, I am going to assume there has been no closure, either."

You give a weak smile. "Yep. And I mean, it's weird," you exhale. You can feel something bubbling up. You've opened up a little and now everything else that you've been compressing is trying to break out of you. "I got two new friends outta' this. I mean," you look to him quickly, gesturing between you, "we're friends, right?"

"I would say so," he replies. "Yes."

"Right." You nod quickly and continue. "So even though I got some new friends, bein' round Jesse all the time is diggin' up these old feelings and I feel isolated, you know? Lonely, almost." You scoff at yourself and shake your head. "Man messed me up so bad I was even projectin' 'em on you a lil' bit before." You pause, realising what you've just said. "I... uh... but..." Shit. You've made it awkward. You're tired and a little emotional after that happened today and now you've made things weird.

Hanzo, though, doesn't seem offended at all. He merely crosses his arms and smiles. "I understand," he says, a knowing look on his face. "You are feeling lonely."

You close your eyes and let out a long, relaxed exhale. "Yeah," you admit, relieved. "I am. That's all. I'm sorry 'bout sayin--"

"I am happy to oblige you."

You freeze entirely, your eyes snapping open, your mouth still open. For a second you swear your heart has turned into cement. "...I'm sorry," you laugh. "I must be so tired I'm hearin' things."

Hanzo hasn't budged. "I said that I am happy to oblige you."

Jesus. How do you even respond to that? Who just casually drops that into a conversation at a time like this. "I... uh..." you can't even string a sentence together now, the thousands of thoughts in your head creating too much conflict.

"Forgive me," he begins, throwing you a bone, your confusion apparent. "But, if I am not mistaken, I have felt that there is perhaps a mutual feeling between us that is..." he's thinking again. "...More than 'friends.' I do not see the point in ignoring it when you may benefit from..." he trails off. "...I see, I have misread." He clears his throat. "My apologies. I did not mean to imply anything out of disrespect." He gives you a nod. "Goodnight."

Hanzo turns to leave, but your hand, acting out of what could possibly be it's own will, reaches out and grabs his arm, stopping him. God, did you not notice how great his arms are until now? Surely you did. Why are they making your brain go fuzzy, then? "Are you bein' serious?" You ask. He nods. Of course he is. When has he not been?

You wrack your brain for something to say, anything, but you quickly realise there isn't anything to say. Instead, you open the door, leading him in to your room. The very second it's shut, before you can even put things together in your head, you feel a strong arm loop around your waist. He pulls you against him and the second you kiss, the rest feels entirely natural, any awkwardness vanishing into the ether.

You barely manage to stumble over to the bed by the time your shirt is off and you're fumbling with your own belt, Hanzos hands pulling away at the ties of his own... you make a note to ask him what it's actually called later. You back him on to the bed, straddling him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him like your life depends on it. God, you're so glad he picked up on what you were apparently missing, because this is _amazing._

Suddenly, though, there's a pause, and the firm grip he has on your hips relaxes a little. "Wait," he says, his voice breathy, quickly sinking into a whisper. "Are you sure?" He asks.

"Oh, I'm sure," you assure him, kissing him again.

"Even with Jesse--"

" _Fuck_ Jesse," you growl through gritted teeth. This is enough for him, the hold on you strengthening again as you snap open your bra, discarding it carelessly.

He exhales deeply, something rumbling in his chest before he speaks. "I want you like this," he whispers, "but first," he suddenly lifts you, dropping you onto your back on the bed. The top half of his garb is entirely off now, hanging at his waist as he kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing you every now and then. When he finally arrives at your breasts, he stops, taking a minute to look at them -- and he's not just looking at them. He's taking it in. His hands come to cup them, his thumbs smoothing over the skin, his breathing deepening and savouring the feeling as they graze over your nipples. When he finally takes one in his mouth, the enthusiasm surprises you a little. Not that it's a bad thing, you just never would have pinned him as a tittie-man.

He stays like that for a while, something about the way his tongue works itself over your breasts making you think that he's definitely more than experienced -- although at his age, you'd hope so. Eventually, though, he sits up, pulling on the waistband of your jeans with an urgency. How long has he been thinking about this? Is he always like this? Because you could get used to it, either way. His clothes come next and you learn pretty quickly that he doesn't wear underwear under those pants. And you've been riding against him for how long, now? Poor guy. He should have made a move earlier.

His fingers hook under the band of your panties, the last of your clothing, but he stops, his eyes roaming you, like he's looking at something of incredible value and artistry. "My god," he says to himself, inhaling, "never had I imagined... your form is..." you lock eyes with eachother, "perfect. Beautiful."

You swallow, your face feeling hot, desperate for his kisses and breath against your skin again. "I swear to god," you whisper, "get these things off me right now."

He smiles, obliging, but before you can even relish in the feeling of being naked in front of someone who is all but getting off on the mere sight of you, he pulls you back up to straddle you on his lap and _oh god_ he's so strong and it turns you on _so much._

You kiss him again and with very little adjustment you manage to lower yourself onto him, whimpering into his mouth as you slowly take him. He brings one hand up to the back of your neck, his fingers weaving into your hair as he pulls you in for another kiss, this one hungrier, more desperate than the rest somehow. His grip on your thigh tightens once you've taken all of him, your chest heaving against his. "Wait," he all but chokes, both of you having to make a great effort to resist losing control of yourselves. "What about your--"

"It'll be fine," you cut in.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," you reply, breathless, one of your palms flat against his chest, the other on the side of his face as you nod. "Trust me. I can't."

He kisses you again, suddenly, his teeth bumping yours accidentally as his hips begin to work, both his hands coming to grip your waist as you move your own in kind, the both of you working into an effortless and perfect rhythm. You're trying to keep quiet. You're trying so hard, and every now and then you'll have to bite down on your lip to hold back a moan. It feels so good. He's perfectly shaped for you, it seems, because there's a build of pleasure in you that's _different_ to how you've done it before, one that builds in the very core of you that you know from experience is incredibly rare, one that you can't achieve yourself. "Oh my god," you whisper, burying your face into the spot where his neck meets his shoulder.

He growls something in Japanese, the gravel of his voice making you tense even more and making you throw a hand up to cover your mouth as you unwillingly release another moan. "Bite me," he asks, "please," and you oblige, the way he speeds in his movements making you realise that he likes it a lot and also allowing you to muffle your own cries somehow.

His hand reaches back and grabs the flesh of your behind, pulling you against him even more, your pace upping to match his as he thrusts into you even deeper and harder. It's happening. "Hanzo," you whimper, the pitch in your voice changing in an attempt to keep quiet. "Hanzo I'm gonna--"

"Yes," he growls. "Come for me."

You _were_ just climaxing, but the second he says that you feel yourself going over, like it's in slow motion. "Ohmygod I'm gonna-- I'm--- Oh my fuckING---" You bury your face back in to his neck and bite down as you release a torrent of whimpers and cursing, your hips bucking wildly, your nails digging into his shoulder and arm. His grip tightens, his fingers digging in to your flesh so hard it might bruise, but _oh god_ it hurts so good as he loses himself. His face finds itself against your own next as he lets out a long, powerful groan, all but lifting you up and down against him, filling you with his cum, the warmth adding an extra level of pleasure to the afterglow of your own orgasm.

Both of you stay still, leaning against eachother, breathless. If Hanzo feels anything like you do right now, his head is swimming, his body feeling warm and fuzzy in the haze. You eventually summon the will to move your head, kissing along his jawline, and he lays back, bringing you down with him to collapse against him.

Eventually you roll aside, feeling the sticky residue on the inside of your thighs as you settle beside him, resting your head against his shoulder. "How long have you been wanting to do that?" You finally ask him, still trying to find your breath, your hand coming to rest against his chest.

"If I am to be honest?" He says, a coy smile on his face, his eyes closed, exhausted. "Ever since you got on my horse." You laugh, playfully smacking him against the chest, his head craning down to kiss your forehead.

You aren't sure when you actually drift off to sleep like that, or when you wake back up, but when you do? It's nice. You don't panic like you expected to. You don't feel bad. You're just... at peace.

You relax against him and drift off back to sleep to the sound of his breathing and the occasional snore. You'll worry about the consequences tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. So. I'm going back and re-naming all the chapters after western films. Because I'm nerd trash.   
> Shout out to everyone who spotted the Simpsons reference in this one. And there's an inside joke based on a really excellent comment I got a few chapters back. ;)  
> Flashback chapter next. As per usual, keep those comments coming, they give me stuff to think about and motivation. <3


	10. The Great Silence

**_Years ago..._ **

**_\--_ **

It has been the single longest week that Jesse has ever had. Not because of work, not even because of more and more Deadlock work on the side. It's been a long week because of two words nervously stammered by his wife at the breakfast table four or five days ago.

_'I'm late.'_

Jesse had been trying to downplay it with her, of course, telling her it's probably nothing, probably to do with the stress of taking up the apprenticeship with the midwife. She's been getting up earlier than she usually has to. That can mess with a woman's monthly cycle, right?

But, despite his cool and unconcerned disposition when she's around, the second he's away from her, Jesse finds himself wracking his brain over it. How much do babies cost? They feed off their mother's milk for a while, but when do you have to start buying food? How do you change a baby? What if you hold them wrong? How do you know if they're crying because they're sick or if they're crying because they're hungry? How much does a bassinet cost? And not a shoddy one. A good one.

Okay, he hasn't been stressing so much about the last thing. The first thing he did was start making enquiries. It'd be expensive, but if she was pregnant, their baby was only getting the best. Baby. That word is so foreign and such a non-issue when it's not yours.

He kicks up his feet on the desk in the jail, scratching at his stubble. He's making enough to raise a child comfortably. More than enough, in fact. But he can do better. If she's having a baby, she's getting round the clock help as much as she wants. Their baby is going to have the best medical care. And school? Oh god, how much is school going to cost? They can send him to the town school, sure, but he'll need a proper education--

Jesse stops himself, halting his thought pattern. Him? He's been silently panicking about this whole thing, sure. So has she. But the idea of that... he doesn't hate it. His own son. He can teach him to ride a horse and shoot a gun and all the things his father taught him, only Jesse will do a much better job. He won't abandon him for alcohol. He'll raise him properly. Give him everything he didn't get...

But what if it's a girl? Jesse frowns to himself at the thought of this -- not because he wouldn't want a daughter. No, he'd love a daughter. But the idea of loving any other female on the planet more than his wife is... not as scary as he thought it would be, actually. Not as scary as it'll be for any man who dare to come courting. Although he's in just as much trouble if she's anything like her mother. He's barely got a handle on his own wife, let alone a little version of her.

He picks up the phone, clearing his throat and inputting the numbers for his business partner. It's all terrifying, but there's steps he has to take, no matter how he feels about it. "Sam," he says into the receiver. "I got some extra time on my hands... just wonderin' if you got any extra work for me?"

The night, Jesse leaves work early, rides with a few Deadlock members and helps them rob a competing caravan. Then he removes the bandanna from his face, takes his cut of the extra money and returns home to his wife, excited to tell her how excited he is. This is a good thing. This is going to be the best thing to ever happen to them.

When he finds you, you're sitting at the table, dinner ready and plated up. You look up and meet his gaze, offering a half-hearted smile. "Good news," you announce, although your voice sounds tired. "Monthly started today."

Whatever semblance of a smile was on his face vanishes as he approaches the able, taking a seat across from you. "That's uh... good," he says, scratching at his beard as you take your utensils in your hands. "Don't think we were ready."

You nod silently in agreement and begin to eat, Jesse Joining you. Neither of you say a word for a while, mostly eating in silence. There's a weight to the silence, both of you wanting to say something, but neither of you knowing how to open up for it. Jesse, though, surprises you by taking the lead.

"Y'know," he says, looking at his food as he speaks, an amused smile on his face, "I uh... called about some stuff. Just in case." He clears his throat, reaching out and sipping on his glass of water.

"Same," you admit. "I was thinkin' bout the nursery a little, wonderin' if we'd needta' paint it." That's sort of true. You actually spent the day in the spare room trying to map out what furniture would go where. You even roughly sketched it down, although you threw the sketch into the fire in a fit on embarrassment before Jesse got home.

"What colour?" He asks, his voice flat, even sounding a little uninterested.

You shrug. "Well, I was thinkin' somethin' gender neutral. Not yellow though. Somethin' like... purple."

He looks up from his meal. "Purple?" He repeats, an eyebrow raised. "...I was thinkin' green."

This response confuses you for a moment, but Jesse smiles, the genuine smile that's reserved for you, the one that lets you know he's _really_ happy, and you can't help but let out a laugh of joy. "Really?" You ask.

"Yeah," he laughs with you. Neither of you need to explain what you mean. You just... know.

Relieved, you rise from the table, rushing to his side and throwing your arms around him. "I got so excited," you admit. "I know you keep sayin' it ain't the time but I wanted it to be real so bad."

He turns his head, kissing your cheek. "Me too," he replies, the tension in the room dissipating. "I kept thinkin' bout it and it just got..." he laughs. "You really wouldn't mind?" He asks.

"Mind?" You scoff. "Jesse. I want a baby. So bad."

He shakes his head. "No, I mean you don't mind puttin' off school if it happens before then."

You shake your head, kissing him, breaking away to give a squeal as he pulls you down onto his lap. "My whole life is here right now," you explain. "You, Ma', the house. 'Sides, I got the midwife thing. Millie says it'll look good when I actually do get to apply." You smile and brush a little bit of hair away from his face. "I wanna spend more time here first."

Jesse's arms wrap around your waist and he exhales, smiling, his brow coming to rest against yours. "Yeah," he admits, "this is pretty good."

"So that's a yes?" You ask him. "We can start tryin'? Just... see what happens?"

He gives a nod and you can't help yourself, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and kissing him. Everything is working out so well.

* * *

Its been almost a year. Everything has been going well, sure. Jesse's investment returns are keeping you comfortable and giving you enough to care for your mother. In fact, his investments have been bringing more and more business and life to Little Justice, and he's become incredibly well respected. The Mayor's wife has become a regular visitor for tea, and there's even been talk of Jesse running for Sheriff when the current one finally decides to retire.

"It all seems fine t' me," Millie sighs, pulling down your skirts and gesturing for you to sit up as she collects the tools she used, placing them in a bucket to clean later. You pulls yourself up, sitting on the small exam table in her little office, which Jesse had, funnily enough, paid for to give her a space for prenatal exams "Really, honey, I don't know why ya' keep comin' for exams. You're all fine and dandy."

You shake your head, watching her remove her gloves and throw them in the garbage. "It's nearly been a year, Millie," you stress. "Nothin'. Not even a scare, ya' know?"

She shrugs. "You spendin' enough time in bed with him?" She asks. "You gotta get in at the right time, when you're ripe n' ready."

Frustrated, you roll your eyes, throwing your head back and giving a groan. "We been doin' it almost every night, Millie. I don't know if I can take it anymore."

"I can always take over," she jokes, grinning.

"Millie," you warn, although halfheartedly at her joke.

Laughing to herself, she crosses her arms, sitting down at her chair and watching you. "Look, you seem t' be fine. Your monthlies are runnin' like clockwork. You're seem healthy whenever I take a look. What'd the Doctor say?"

"Dr Hopkins?" You ask. "He reckons I need more iron. Got me eatin' red meat. Other than that?" You shrug. "Says I'm fine."

"Well," she begins, leaning back, thinking. "Maybe the problem here ain't you. Jesse been to Hopkins yet?"

You frown. "No."

Millie tilts her head, mulling this over. "Maybe he should. Ain't uncommon for boys t' have weak swimmers."

"Jesse and doctors don't tendta' mix..." you reply.

She scoffs at this, rolling her eyes. "Oh, boo hoo. If he wantsa' put a baby in ya', he can tough out the doctor's office."

You open your mouth to argue, but Millie isn't wrong. You've been putting in most of the effort to make this happen and Jesse... well, you can't think of the last time Jesse went to the doctor that didn't involve him being shot or something. "...I have no idea how I'll convince him."

"Honey, what'd I teach you?" She asks. "You tell that man that if he goes to the doctor, you'll give him the nighta' his life."

"I'm not using sex t' bargain with Jesse," you say, shaking your head. "We do that 'cause we love eachother."

Millie shakes her head, rising from her seat. "If you say so," she replies, defeated. "I'm jus' sayin' that any man who loves you should have no problem goin' t' get his junk checked out if it means gettin' to have a baby with ya'."

You sit on this. In fact, you sit on it all day. During your rounds, on your way home, and the couple of hours it takes for Jesse to get home, you think about it. First of all you're wondering if you should ask Jesse at all, but eventually it develops into _how_ you're going to ask him. You decide to be firm. Kind, warm, but _firm._ You're not going to budge on it.

And then Jesse stumbles in with blood splattered on his shirt, doubles over, his arm holding at his abdomen.

"Jesse!" You all but scream, knocking your seat over as you race to your feet and to his side.

"I'll be right," he explains, although his voice is strained. "Justa'... well, I think it's a broken rib. Or two." You help him to the couch, helping him lower himself down until he lands against the cushions with a grunt. "Gemme' a whisky, wouldja'?" He asks.

You look over him, taking his hands in yours and frantically inspecting them. They're covered in dirt and blood and... something else. Oil? His arms are cut in places, and you quickly realise he's cut across his cheekbone, too. "You need a Doctor," you reply, shaking your head. "I'll go get--"

He quickly grabs your arm, causing you to flinch a little. "Hey now," he gently assures you. "There ain't no need for that, Darlin." He gives you a weak smile. "Coupla' cuts and bruises, that's all." He pulls you close, kissing your brow. "You jus' worry 'bout that whisky. I'ma lil' sore. It'll help."

You move to argue, but stop yourself, pursing your lips and giving a huff. Fine. He didn't seem to be bleeding freely, and even if he has a broken rib, you know enough to know there isn't really much that can be done for it. You make your way to the liquor cabinet and open it, frowning the whole time as you reach for the whisky. "Reckon' ya' can get that shirt off y'self?"

Turning to watch him, a glass of whisky in hand, you watch him reach down to grab at the hem of his shirt. He manages to reach it almost half way over his torso, but grunts out on pain and quickly gives up. "Might needa' hand, if ya' could."

You hand him the whisky glass, kneeling in front of him, trying your best to conceal your worry and panic. Jesse has been Deputy for a long time now, and while he comes home with a black eye or some scrapes and bruises every now and then, this is... scary. "What happened?" You ask, unbuttoning his shirt as he downs the glass in one hit.

"Small disagreement between some of the shippin' companies that've started passin' through," he explains. "Got a lil' messy. Nothin' worth worryin' 'bout, though. Wicker's a good shot, luckily."

"Wicker?" You ask, glancing up to him.

"Owner of the Deadlock Company," he explains. "Anyway. It's sorted now."

When you open his shirt to help him shrug it off, you give an audible gasp. "Jesse!" You cry, your eyes setting in on the bruises that are already blossoming across his ribs.

"I'll be fine," he assures you before giving a quick grunt. "Might take a couple days off, though."

You watch his expression carefully. You've seen Jesse in pain before, and while you've learned that Jesse has an almost chronic fear of burdening you emotionally, you've also learned that he isn't one to shy away from bragging about his own injuries. A few months ago he was shot in the arm, and his favourite thing to do for weeks afterwards was retell the story of it over and over again, no matter how many times you rolled your eyes. "Jesse," you say quietly once his shirt is off and in your hands. The blood is still wet and damp on the fabric. "...What really happened?"

His expression blanks for a moment as he stares at you. "Just some business. You don't gotta worry 'bout it."

For a second you consider dismissing it as easily as he does. It would be easier, after all, to just turn a blind eye to whatever your husband is getting up to and carry on with your life... but things are different now that you're trying to have a baby. It's not a matter of Jesse getting himself into trouble now. If you have a baby, there's so much more... and the more you think about it, the more it adds up. The later nights, the way he seems to spend more and more time in the Saloon and never wants to tell you details about who he's with, the way he skims over the details of his investments.

Whatever your expression is right now, it's obviously telling, because Jesse finds himself shifting uncomfortably. "Darlin, I-"

"Please," you sigh. "I spend every day worryin' that someone's gonna hurt ya' or shoot ya' or somethin'. Please don't make me start worrying that ya' lyin' to me, too."

You can see the conflict in his face as he thinks it over, but the second he takes the shirt from you, places it on the couch beside you and takes your hands in his, you know he's going to come clean. "I... ain't been totally honest with ya', Darlin'." Your heart begins to race a little, although you try to hear him out before reacting. "It's... you know my investments?" He asks. "They're a little more... complex than I mighta' led on."

"I don't understand."

"Well, Deadlock..." he pauses and takes a deep breath. "They ain't just importin' luxury goods. Lotta' what they're bringin' through town is... frowned on."

Your eyes widen. "Jesse," you begin, your voice low. "What're they importin'?" He opens his mouth to speak, but you aren't finished. "Don't fluff me 'round, either. I ain't a child."

He gives a nod, swallowing uncomfortably. "Contraband, dirty money, drugs... but it's weapons, mostly."

You close your eyes, all of the air in your lungs seemingly escaping. "Jesus, Jesse."

"I know it sounds bad," he says quickly, "but look at the town. Look at how busy it is here now. How everythin' is goin' so good. Look at what we got," he looks around the room, his hands squeezing yours.

You shake your head, your jaw tense. "It ain't _right,_ Jesse," you reply. "You're the Deputy and you're takin' money from... I guess they're a gang." All of a sudden, it begins to dawn on you. "Jesus," you say quietly, looking around your home. Everything you own is a result of Jesse breaking the law, of bribe money. "I don't think I can..."

"Hey," he gives your hands another squeeze before you quickly pull them away and run one through your hair. "It ain't hurtin' anyone," he assures you. "The laws we're breakin' are decades old, and if they weren't bringin' it through Little Justice, they'd just find somewhere else." He brings his hand forward and cups your chin, lifting it up so your eyes can meet his, a warm smile on his face. "You know I wouldn't do nothin' t' hurt no one."

He's right. As awful as this is, as much as this goes against your morals, it's not... directly hurting anyone. "You sure?" You ask him.

Jesse nods. "I'm sure. You seen what's happenin' in the cities?" He asks. "With them Omnics? We're actually helpin' people. They need what we're helpin' get through town. And anyway," he says his smile widening. "The extra money is just what we need. I was talkin' t' the Mayor and he was sayin' that they got this tonic for ladies havin' trouble conceivin' that his wife used. And they got three of 'em now!"

You pause, frowning. You debate not bringing it up, given what Jesse has just told you, but you're so exhausted suddenly that you aren't able to keep it in. "Millie reckon's I'm fine," you reply. "She says we should... that you might needta' go to the doctor."

He raises an eyebrow. "You suggestin' my boys can't swim?"

"No," you say quickly, shaking your head. "I'm sayin' that maybe there's... somethin' else, and the Doctor's gotta see us _both._ " You pause for a moment. "I think you owe me this much, 'specially after... droppin' this on me."

Jesse gives a long exhale, shrugging. "Fine," he relents. "I'll go t' Doctor Hopkins t'morrow, once everythin' that happened tonight dies down." He pauses. "Long as it means y' might smile again."

* * *

Jesse sits on the couch in silence a week later. Doctor Hopkins couldn't do much for the ribs on his first visit other than give him some painkillers and order him to rest. Despite the physical discomfort, it isn't the worst having time off work while his wife dotes on him. No, what's bothering him is the _other_ thing he went to Doctor Hopkins about. The thing that he had to return to him today about.

 _'The results that the lab sent back are, unfortunately, quite clear,'_ Hopkins had said, looking at some papers as Jesse sat across from him in his office. _'It appears that you have a case of nonobstructive azoospermia. This means that your sperm production is abnormally low and chances of conception are, as a result, less than promising.'_ All of a sudden it made perfect sense why Jesse had never gotten a girl pregnant, despite acting like a complete idiot in his youth. It wasn't luck. He wasn't physically capable of it.

And now Jesse sits on the couch when you return home from tea with Millie, trying his best to not think about how excited you look. He knows how badly you want a baby. He knows how badly _he_ wants a baby. And knowing he's about to snuff out that look of hope in your eyes when you see him waiting for you is enough to kill him.

"Well?" You ask, beaming, "how'd it go?" You ask. "Whatta' we gotta' go?"

Jesse studies your face. He knows he should tell the truth. He knows that no matter what, you're not going to like what he has to tell you... but knowing he can't do this for you, knowing it's his fault...

He looks away, his jaw tensing, exhaling, his face dark. "Went fine," he replies. "All normal."

You're still smiling, although the glimmer in your eyes has vanished. "Oh," you reach out and brush a stray lock of hair out of his face. "So they didn't find anythin' unusual?"

Jesse shakes his head. "Nope," he says, definitively. "They reckon' it must be a problem t' do with you."

There's a long, hard silence after this. Your expression entirely drops, and although Jesse knows immediately that he has absolutely fucked up in every sense of the phrase, he still holds himself firm as you visibly look away, trying to hold back tears. "That's uh..." you exhale. "But Millie..."

"Midwifes and Doctors ain't the same thing," he insists.

"Right." You smooth your hands over your dress and give a nod. "Well uh, guess we should try that Tonic you was talkin' bout." You clear your throat, and by the time Jesse finally does look at you, you've turned, making your way to the kitchen. "I'd better start on dinner," is all you can manage before your voice starts to crack, and your tone is flippant enough for Jesse to realise you're fleeing the situation.

He leans back into the fabric of the couch and lifts his hand to his face, covering his eyes. The reality of what he's just done dawns on him, as does the knowledge that as much as this hurts her, if he ever goes back on it and tells her the truth, her heart will be broken.

Jesse McCree begins to wonder if he's even _capable_ of being a good person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy fuck. You guys have left me some of the most beautiful, genuine, thoughtful comments after that last chapter and it's knocked me down. I'm so lucky to have such wonderful readers and you have no idea what your kind words mean to me. Thank you so much. You have no idea what these comments mean to me.
> 
> ...So I'm going to actually apologise for being Satan and treating the characters like shit this time.


	11. Minnesota Clay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CN: Violence, interrogation

You're not very good at this whole 'sneaking off in the morning thing,' probably because you've never actually had to try it before. You've never been in a situation that required it until now, and it's a lot more difficult than you anticipated when you woke up with Hanzo's arm draped over your waist.

It takes time, but you manage to wiggle your way out from beneath his arm in a way that neither shakes the bed nor awakens him. You're unsure if you've somehow mastered the art of stealth without realising it or if Hanzo is just a heavy sleeper, but you don't have time to relish in the pride that's creeping up on you over it. Despite being free of his arm, you're still completely naked, your clothing scattered all over the room. You don't even know where some items such as your bra ended up. It was all so quick last night.

Carefully dropping your legs to hang over the side of the bed, you manage to spot your underwear on the floor. You just have to get your body-weight off the mattress in a way that doesn't disturb Hanzo or cause the bed-frame to creak. It'll be difficult and require a fair amount of finesse, but you don't have much choice. Your legs tense and--

Before you can try and action your plan, something pulls around your waist and your back hits the mattress, Hanzo's body coming to shape itself against your back. "Are you trying to sneak away?" He asks, his voice a little croaky as you feel his breath on the back of your neck.

"No," you whisper back, settling in to the contact. "I just didn't want to wake you."

He exhales, relaxing after the task of bringing you back to him. "It is not so bad awakening early given the circumstances I find myself in." You feel his lips press down on your shoulder. "I know we have much to do today, but allow me this." He gives a tired groan as you roll over to face him, his eyes only really half open, visibly drowsy. "At least for a little while longer."

Part of you wants to argue. You can admit to yourself that there's a tiny voice in your head that has been insisting that you have made a huge mistake, the same voice that still sometimes calls Jesse your husband or tries to convince you that he still loves you the same as he used to. But there's something so comfortable about Hanzo. You've only really just met the man and yet he feels so familiar to you, like everything about the way you interact is entirely effortless. Everything about him is fascinating to you, and you find yourself excited to uncover and explore more and more of him. Even his face while he's sleeping is one that you want to roam over with your lips, mapping out the shape of his cheekbones using kisses. You want to trace your fingertips over the lines of his tattoo, relishing and the rise and falls of his muscular arms as you do. You want to listen to him talk, and suspect you could do it all day, marvelling in the gentle tones his voice takes even though every word he speaks starts with firm sounds.

Even though you could get started on that now, though, you don't. You've spent years deliberately detaching from whoever you share a bed with, although you never wake up with them the next morning. As natural as these feelings seem to you, it almost feels against your nature -- so you resist them, choosing to be content with the way his arm drapes over your waist so lazily, your knees bumping against his, the warmth of his skin keeping you warm despite that the covers are underneath you following your attempt at escape. You eventually decide to move, lifting his arm a little so you can crawl under the blankets with him.

He lets out a long, relaxed exhale when you fit your body against his, skin on skin as you bundle up beside him, his arm finding its way to your waist again. You rest your head on the pillow below his, Hanzo's chin gently on top of your head as you settle against his chest. "Why must you be so intelligent?" He asks. "If you were less so, you would not need to be awake so early today."

You smile a little, even though you know he won't see it. "You're being greedy."

"I absolutely am," he admits, although he hardly seems phased by it. "Can you blame me?"

"Not at all. I reckon' I'm pretty great." You plant a gentle kiss against his collarbone and a soft, low rumble leaves his chest as a result, the arm draped over you shifting to squeeze you against him somewhat.

"Careful," he warns you, "once you begin to travel down that path, it may take time..." suddenly, you're on your back, Hanzo looming over you, gently pinning your hands above your head by the wrists. He gives you a playful smile before he leans down and kisses you. "And you have somewhere to be this morning."

You search his face, the affection in his eyes striking you as... you're not sure how you should go about describing it. You want to say innocent, but there's nothing innocent about the allure between you at all. Pure, maybe. Genuine. And as the realisation dawns on you, you find yourself thinking out loud. "...I ain't gonna be gettin' away with this bein' a one time thing, am I?"

While you worry after the fact that this might insult or hurt him, he merely shakes his head. "Not unless you wish it." His hands slowly shift against your wrists, sliding their palms against yours, his fingers lacing with yours. "But I do not think you do."

For a moment you wonder if you should lie, or try to avoid this, but the more you think about it, the more you find yourself wondering what that will achieve. It's an unusual set of circumstances, yes, and you have only just met him, and he's Jesse's best friend... but something about this just feels _right_ in a way that you almost forgot existed. You've had sex more times than you can count, you've been with men who've considered you everything from a lowly tramp to their genuine mistress. Where everyone else right now has experience in fighting, you have experience in this. And _this_ is something good. And fuck it -- you deserve it. "Got me figured out already, huh?" You reply with a smile.

He chuckles, sitting up and helping you join him, your hands still in his. "I very much doubt that."

"Is it gonna be alright, though?" You ask him. "I mean, just with the way things are."

"You mean Jesse?" He asks.

You shake your head. "No. Well. Yeah, that'll matter too, I guess. Although I don't see _why_ he got any right t' be angry, given what happened." You pause, stopping yourself from focusing on that. That's a discussion for later. "I mean the whole Overwatch thing," you explain. "Ya'll are on a mission right now. Ain't it... I dunno. Misconduct or somethin'?"

He shrugs. "It would be frowned upon, I suppose, depending on who were to find out. But nothing would come of it officially." Hanzo pauses this time, frowning a little. "...I will admit, though, that Jesse's reaction..." he exhales, thinking. "As correct as you are about his right to be displeased, I am sure he will find a reason to feel justified in reacting so."

You laugh a little, an eyebrow arching. "Wow, you two really are close, huh? That's exactly him." Shaking your head, you reach up and scratch at the skin around the area of your wound on your arm. It's a good sign, though. Means it's healing. One less thing to worry about, you suppose. "I just hope this doesn't... well, I mean, I don't want ya' t' lose him as a friend over this. He's been downright terrible t' me, but I like you," you say with a shrug. "Don't want ya' to suffer nothin'."

Although you expect Hanzo to weigh in with some kind of serious thought or musing, he smiles and laughs to himself. "Ah. So you _do_ like me, then."

"Pfft," you roll your eyes. "Kinda." He leans in and kisses you, giving you a new chance to savor the way it feels, less muddled by the heat and roar of passion like last night, but with a clear mind. "Maybe," you begin, carefully selecting your words, "we should hold off on... tellin' anyone. Just until this whole mess with Wicker is over." You chew at your lip for a moment, waiting to see how he reacts. "I just... I think I've added enough stress t' the whole group as it is. Don't think we need another distraction."

"You are both correct and incorrect," he says, a gentle smile easing your anticipation, although the response somewhat confuses you. "You are incorrect that you have caused additional stress," he explains. "Given the circumstances, your approach has been completely justified. Jesse has been the one pushing it -- which is where you are correct." He nods to himself as he speaks. "Jesse's temper will indeed be..." he frowns. "...'Distracting' may be too kind of a word."

"Well, I don't imagine it should be too hard," you hypothesise. "What, with us sharin' a horse n' all. Least we'll still be... close."

Hanzo smiles and nods. "Yes. I am excited to ride again now that I am not withholding my own desires." He gives a smirk and you laugh a little in surprise.

"Oh, _desires,_ huh?" You ask, grinning from ear to ear. "That bad?"

Hanzo lowers his hand to rest at the curve of your hip for a second, before giving you a very light tap where your hip becomes the side of your butt. "You should get dressed. Ana is an early riser."

Sighing, you roll your eyes and give a dramatic groan as you rise from the bed, reaching for your underwear. "We should prolly' head down separately," you say, looking around for your bra. "If I can find my--" Hanzo smiles and ducks down beside his side of the bed, returning with your bra in his hand, which you playfully snatch back.

"You should take better care of your belongings," he teases. "Or someone may confiscate them."

* * *

You've been sitting at the breakfast table with Ana for maybe ten or so minutes when Hanzo finally arrives, sitting next to Ana, across from you. The two of you do your best to not pay each other too much attention. No flirtatious glances, no smiles. Just the same as every other morning you've spent sharing a table. Your order of breakfast arrives -- just eggs this morning with a cup of tea, and Hanzo takes the chance to order his own while Ana sips at her drink and reads the morning paper.

"I would suggest you do not tell Jesse," she says suddenly, her voice casual, not looking up from what she's reading, as though she's said nothing out of the usual. You nearly spit your food out of your mouth in shock.

"'Scuse me?" You cough, quickly bringing a napkin to your mouth. "Whatta' ya' mean?"

Ana looks up, glancing between you and Hanzo, a tiny smile eventually blooming across her mouth. "I think you both know what I mean." She goes back to her paper. "I can tell. You don't get to my age without being able to."

You quickly glance between her and Hanzo, a spark of panic rising in your chest. "Do ya' think... will Jesse..."

Ana shakes her head. "No. He is much too worried about himself to notice such nuances -- unless he's suspicious." There's a pause. "Although I'm sure you already know that." She reaches to her cup of tea, dunking the bag a few more times. "I am sure you two will be careful, though. Especially you," she says, eying Hanzo.

Hanzo gives a nod, his shoulders a little tense. "We have had this discussion."

"Good." She pauses and passes you the sugar, giving you a gentle smile. "You take three, don't you?"

"You remembered?" You ask, taking the lid off the sugar pot and beginning to sweeten your tea.

Ana gives a nod, folding up the paper and placing it aside. "I remember many things," she says before reaching into her trenchcoat and removing... something. It's round and metallic, like a disk, but with some buttons around the rim. "I also remember you mentioning you wanted to know more about Overwatch."

She presses a button and the disk makes a little sound, emitting a light and projecting a picture. "Oh!" Your eyes widen. "That's... I ain't ever seen nothin' that does that before!" You smile, looking from Ana to the picture. There's not a lot of that kind of new technology around these parts, not when so much of the economy relies on repairing the old.

"These are just photos I have stored," she explains, "I'm unsure of the order..." the picture is of Hanzo and McCree, sitting at some kind of bar, both of them with a bottle of beer in hand. McCree is smiling, relaxed, something you haven't seen in... years, honestly. You certainly haven't seen him so at ease during this trip, at least. Whereas Hanzo... you can't help it but glance to him, the archer distracted by the breakfast that has just been placed in front of him. You can recognize the smile he has in the photo. You saw it this morning.

Ana presses another button and the image changes. A young girl is asleep on a couch, her mouth wide open, something orange around her mouth, a packet of junk food in her lap and some kind of device you're not familiar with in her hands. "This is Hana," Ana explains. "She's the youngest. Plays a lot of videogames, but she's very good at what she does." Ana smiles to herself. "She is very good at annoying Jesse, too. ...But don't tell him I think it's funny."

The image changes again and this time there's two people. At least... you think they're people? One of them is a large, rotund figure. Gigantic, actually, with a tattoo of a pig on his belly button that you can't help but find grotesque. On his shoulders is a smaller man, his frame thin and lean, his skin a color you can't say you've ever seen on someone. His hair his as wild as his eyes, and he's pulling a face, his tongue sticking out, his hand in some kind of gesture that you don't know the meaning of. "He sick?" you ask, eliciting a chuckle from Ana.

"No," she replies. "That's Junkrat, and that," she says, pointing to the larger, "is Roadhog."

"I ain't ever seen anyone like 'em," you remark, fascinated.

"They're from a part of the world where everything is polluted," she explains. "That kind of thing changes your body." She gives a shrug, finger moving to the button. "They are good people, though." She presses the button and a new two figures appear. A man with white hair pulls at a rope in a game of tug-o-war with a woman who almost matches his gigantic stature. Unlike roadhog, though, the man is sturdy, almost entirely muscle, although his age is visible. The woman grimaces in the image, her short, pink hair fascinating you much more than the fact she looks to be the strongest woman you've ever seen. "That is Zarya," she says, pointing to the pink-haired statue of a woman. "They call her the Last Hope of Russia. And this," she points to the man, "is Reinhardt."

"He's..."

"Huge?" She finishes, smiling. "Yes. But he's a gentle giant." There's a special fondness in her voice as she says this, and she takes an extra moment to look at the image herself. "He and I have been friends since Overwatch was conceived." She presses the button again. "And this," she says, her voice becoming a little louder as she glances to Hanzo, "is Mei and Genji." In the image, a cute, rugged-up woman with glasses is doubled over and laughing at the sight of an Omnic with his hand frozen to a wall. "Genji is Hanzo's brother."

You blink. "This is him?" You ask.

Hanzo gives a nod, glancing to the image. "I remember that day," he begins, looking back to his food. "Hana found a spider on the wall, and Genji and Mei tried to kill it at the same time."

Ana laughs to herself. "Yes! I do remember!" She nods, recalling the day. "I have never seen Mei laugh herself into tears before." Before you can ask how Genji's hand became frozen to the wall, the image changes again, a young woman in a suit of incredible armor posing unenthusiastically for a photo. "And this..." Ana's laughter vanishes, a special fondness in her eyes, "is my daughter, Fareeha."

You look at the image closely. The resemblance between her and Ana is striking, although you suppose that mother and child would look alike. "She's beautiful," you say, smiling.

Ana nods in agreement, but the voice of McCree interrupts. "Hate t' interrupt this walk down memory lane," he announces, standing by the table, arms crossed, "but the library's bout t' open, and I wanna get movin' outta' here soon as possible."

"Sorry, Ana," you say with a sigh as you rise from your seat. "Y' can tell me more 'bout her soon as I deal with him." You turn, not saying another word, and walk right past him, leaving the Saloon with Jesse in tow. It's like he knows when you have something good going.

* * *

The second cache is easy enough. Pinkerton was the maiden name of the first wife of the mayor of a town named Tombstone. Or, at least it was called Tombstone back when you know the Mayor. It's called Big Oak Flat now.

The hard part is when you and Ana make it inside and see what Jesse has done. There's a survivor. He's young for someone in Deadlock, at least one that they don't have doing grunt work, and Jesse has his tied to a chair, a piece of cloth in his mouth as a gag. "Are you sure he's Deadlock?" Ana asks, obviously as surprised by his age as you are.

You respond before Jesse, though. "Yeah. He's wearing the colors." You sigh as you watch Jesse roll his shoulders, wondering what he's going to do. "Say what ya'll will 'bout Deadlock, Wicker always made sure they looked smart."

"Alright, Son," Jesse announces, still walking around the hostage. "We're gonna ask ya' some questions now, and if ya' tell us what we wanna know, we'll get ya' in t' the next town and I'll even make sure ya' get a pardon, just t' sweeten the deal. So let's make this nice and quick." He stops, removing the makeshift gag and tossing it aside. "Where's Wicker?"

The hostage tenses his jaw, staring straight ahead, not looking McCree in the eye. "I ain't tellin' you shit," he growls. "So if yer gonna' kill me, jus' get it over with."

McCree shakes his head, pursing his lips together. "Good t' see Wicker still got ya'll on a tight leash." He quickly backhands the hostage, causing you to gasp sharply, your eyes widening. "I'll let you off easy 'cause I woulda' done the same back when I was in your position. Lemme ask again," he says, more firmly than before. "Where's Wicker?"

"Go t' hell, Deadeye," he replies, venom in his voice. "Traitorous bastard." With that, he spits at Jesse's feet, looking back up to stare him dead in the eye. His lip is already split, and you don't have to see Jesse's face to know that he's running out of patience.

You've worked in enough Saloons to see barfights, and even before that you've never been a stranger to violence -- the sound of a punch, though, still makes you cringe. The hostage gives a grunt as McCree grabs him by the hair with his metal hand, his other driving into the hostage's stomach in a fist. "Where's Wicker?!" He barks.

The hostage is gasping for air now, winded, his nose bleeding. "I don't know!" He coughs. "None of us know where Wicker is!"

Another crack as Jesse punches him again. You cover your eyes for a moment, silent, not wanting to see the expression of the hostage or even the others in your party. You've seen this side of Jesse before. Just once. And it was something he'd promised you that you'd never see again. Yet, here it was, right in front of you. It was... humiliating. "You don't wanna know what the metal one feels like, Son," he warns. "One more chance."

By now, the hostage is crying, doing his best to swallow it. It's making to feel sick to watch. "I told ya'," he gasps, "I don't know. Please. Please, just kill-"

Another hit. This time blood flies across the room, splattering just in front of Hanzo's feet. Something in you snaps. "Jesse!" You shout suddenly, stepping forward, making a beeline for him. "That's enough!" You grab his arm, pulling him back with all the force you can muster.

"Hell are you doin'?!" He snaps at you as he suddenly turns to face you, a visible and heated anger in his eyes. For a second you're his wife again, the sight of such a rage in him foreign, and enough to swallow you up.

But you feel your chin rise, your eyes meeting his, your shoulders squaring as you stand your ground. Your heart is racing at a million miles an hour. You aren't her anymore and you haven't been for years. "You're gonna kill 'im if y' keep doin' this." You glance over his shoulder and to the hostage, who's slouching over, held up by the ropes that restrain him. "Let me talk t' him."

"Have you gone crazy?" He asks, scoffing at the suggestion.

"Apparently you have." You push past him, shoving him aside as you stand before the boy, who's breathing deeply. He's winded and severely injured. You probably don't have a lot of time before he passes out. "Hey," you say softly, kneeling down in front of him to be on his level. He can barely lift his head to look at you. "What's ya name?"

He doesn't respond, just breathing deeply. You think for a moment, trying to come up with some kind of master plan, but then you spot the pocket watch hanging from his vest. You carefully take it, making sure your movements and slow are gentle, and open it. "Still tickin'. Lucky man," you say, glancing up to him, hoping for a response. Nothing. Looking back down to the watch you notice the engraving within.

"To Charlie," you read aloud, your voice quiet, trying to keep it as between the two of you as you can. "Think of me on your travels. Love, Margie." You carefully close it and tuck it back into his vest pocket, making sure it's secure.  
"Charlie?" You ask him, carefully and slowly placing a hand on his knee. He flinches at this. "It's ok. I ain't gonna hurt ya'." You give a gentle, somewhat nervous laugh. "Don't think I could if I tried. I'm sorry that my..." you stop yourself short of friend. "I'm sorry that my _associate_ was so unkind to ya'. Nothin' I can say'll make it better, but he just wants t' do the right thing by who sent us. If nothin' else, he has enough honour to follow through. So if y' give 'im what he wants, I promise ya' that he'll get ya' t' a jail safe n' sound."

"I don't know nothin' bout where Wicker's hidin'," Charlie croaks. "I ain't lyin'."

"I know," you say softly, trying to assure him with a smile -- although if he can see you or not is an entirely different matter. "But jus' try an' help me t' help ya', okay? Can ya' think of anythin' at all that might help us?" You ask. "Just somethin' t' put us on the right track."

"They'll kill me," he replies, finally breaking a little. "If I tell ya' anythin' they'll find me and kill me."

You pause, taking a breath, considering this. "You're right. That's a fair point. But Deadeye here got a lot of friends now," you explain. "Friends in a lotta' places. Different sides of the world, even. And they can protect ya' and anyone else who Deadlock might come for," you pause and deliberately raise your voice, turning to glance at Jesse. "Can't they?"

Jesse takes the hint, although his face is still dark. "Probably," he grunts. "If I asked 'em."

You turn back to Charlie. "Now, I can tell ya' that if ya' make me happy, that'll make Deadeye happy, and he'll definitely wanna' help ya' out. Can I tell ya' a secret, Charlie?" You ask, your voice lowering even more, creating the illusion of privacy even though you know Jesse is listening with every inch of concentration he has. "Do you wanna know how I know Deadeye so well?"

You lean in and cup your hands around Charlie's ear, and you tell Charlie _exactly_ how you know Deadeye. You realise that you feel a little perverse, actually, because you find a strange sense of relief in it. A pang of sadness hits when it dawns on you that this young man you're trying to interrogate knows that you're Deadeye's wife when the other two in the room, those who you consider friends -- and in the case of one, a lover, -- aren't privy to this information yet. You decide to leave out the fact that you haven't been married to him for a long time, though, for the sake of negotiations. Judging by the way Charlie's eyes widen, though, it works perfectly.

The way he looks at you, you're not sure if he's terrified of you or if he's in awe, but what he says next seems to come a lot easier. "We get messages," he says, his voice shaking, "they don't come directly from Wicker. Least we don't know if they do. But they're Wicker's orders. We pass 'em along like a chain. We got one a few days back."

The smile you give him in return is genuine, and you very gently squeeze his knee in encouragement. "That's just the kinda' thing that can help us, Charlie," you say. "What'd the message say?"

To your surprise, Charlie lifts his head a little, looking over you and straight at McCree. "I wanna know that'll Margie'll be safe, too," he says, his voice quaking. "You promise me that she'll be safe and I'll tell you."

You look away, surprised by how this seems to hit you in the chest. Now that you think about it, Charlie is probably around the same age as Jesse was when you were married, back when Jesse would have done the exact same thing for you. At least you like to think he would have. You wouldn't have hesitated to do it for him. "Alright, Son," Jesse's voice relents from behind you. "Ya' got my word."

Charlie's head drops back down, his attention back to you. "It said _'I'm visitin' Uncle Braumas 'til our new friends can get us outta' this. Keep 'em happy.'_ " Charlie pauses.

"Who're these 'friends?'" McCree asks.

Charlie shakes his head, voice shaking. "That's all I know," he whispers to you. "Please."

You smile and nod, reaching up and gently brushing his hair from his eyes. "Thank you, Charlie. You did good. Deadeye'll look after ya'. Promise." You turn to face him again. "And I _keep_ my promises, don't I?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," he groans, approaching you both, arms crossed, visibly calmer. "You go with the other two and set up a camp. I gotta get our new _friend_ here to a Sheriff so we can get him and his lady-friend somewhere safe." He pauses, looking to Charlie. "Sorry I hadta' be so rough with ya', son. If it's any consolation, I been in your shoes. We'll talk durin' the ride." Jesse tilts his head to you, gesturing you to follow him to the doorway of the room.

"I swear t' _god,_ " you growl, "you better not go back on--"

He raises a hand, gesturing for you to stop talking. "I ain't. Just shut up 'fer a second, would ya?" He waits to make sure you aren't going to argue before continuing. "You thinkin' what I'm thinkin' 'bout that message?" He asks, his voice low. "Uncle Braumas?"

You give a nod. "Old Man Braumas," you reply. "That old guy who lived in that hut up the top of Cochinay?"

"Yeah," he agrees. "The crazy one."

"He wasn't crazy," you correct him quickly, surprised with yourself at how automatic it is. A force of habit that you've hung on to, maybe. "He was just spiritual."

Jesse rolls his eyes. "He thought he could talk t' trees."

"People can be spiritual with nature," you argue.

He shakes his head. "Anyway. If Wicker is up top of Cochinay?" He asks. "It's bad." You look to him for more explanation. "Up that high? Perfect place t' get a dropship in and out without bein' noticed."

"You think so?"

"I know so," he exhales. "Did it myself more than once when I was with Deadlock. Didn't think they still used it, though. Haven't needed dropships since they basically took the place over and could come and go as they damn' well pleased." He frowns. "Whatever Wicker wants a dropship for, it ain't good news." Jesse shakes his head once more and turns back to face Hanzo and Ana, who are waiting for any kind of news. "'Right. You three head t' Riley's Charge and set up camp. I'll take Charlie here back t' Ogdenville, get him and his misses sorted out and then meet ya 'there."

Ana and Hanzo file out of the room, making their way to the horses, but you wait for a moment, catching Jesse's glance with your own. "You be fair with him," you warn.

"'Course," he says, tipping his hat to you. To anyone else this would seem reassuring, but you're sure he's somehow trying to make this a belittling gesture. "You know I ain't that kinda man."

"Honestly?" You ask, moving to pass him, but stopping beside him, your voice low and firm. "After seein' that? I don't think I know you at all."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's more to this chapter, but it got so long that I'm splitting it in two. Ohohohohoh.  
> Once again, your comments, guys. Oh my GOD. If anyone wants to keep in touch and actually like, chat a bit, my twitter is twitter.com/elizabethdanger. I'm currently mid Holiday Event meltdown lol but I'm on there pretty much!  
> You guys are the best. I'm so excited everytime I post a new chapter because I've got this all planned out now (I even have a plan-document. Wooooaaahhh fancy,) and I love seeing how you all react to things I've been sitting on for ages.  
> Seriously, love you, love you, love you. XOXOXOXOX


	12. The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: not actually dubcon, but might make people sensitive to that feel a little squirmy.

_**Years Ago...** _

_**\---** _

It's been the longest two years of your life, honestly. Good things happen, sure, but they're small in comparison to the big things that keep going wrong.

Your mother died about a year back. Passed in her sleep. You found her when you visited the next day. You put off college again after that, mourning too much for you. Jesse took care of selling her house for you, and despite what were some moral and ethical shortcomings at the time, he really stepped up to care for you while you mourned. He's made some more investments in the town. Real ones, not ones that are a cover for his work with Deadlock. He bought back the ranch you grew up in, thinking you might want to do something with it -- but six months later you were still too raw to visit it, so he rented it out.

With all his investments, a time came where the town was buzzing with talk of him being elected Sheriff, even despite the sudden rise in crime and 'undesirables' in town. Sure -- Little Justice had seen an increase in violence, the Saloon was filled with prostitutes and gambling instead of miners and ranchers like it once was. But the town was so healthy. No one seemed to be poor anymore. It was like the entire town turned a blind eye.

But Jesse didn't run for Sheriff, despite being the talk of the town. He quit, telling everyone he had his own 'business and investments to focus on.' You knew what it meant. He quit for Deadlock. Despite this hurting you deeply, though, despite it scaring you that he wanted to throw away that part of his life, the goodness he was seeking, you support him anyway. You stand by his side when he shakes the Mayor's hand and is given key to the city. You escort him to the society balls where he mingles with some of the richest men in the county. You tell the society wives that Jesse cares about Little Justice more than anything. You tell them that you still, after four years, aren't ready for a baby yet. Not when Jesse is so busy changing the town for the better. You ignore the smell of gunpowder and oil and smoke in his hair when he comes to bed in the middle of the night and kiss him despite the blood on his cheek. You, too, turn a blind eye.

As another year passes, though, you realise you're seeing less and less of your husband. He comes home later and later, sometimes drunk, other times injured. And that's if he comes home at all. There was a period where he vanished for two days, and just as you were getting ready to seek help, he stumbled in and handed you a ring with more jewels than you could count.

The gifts are another thing. The Mayor is the richest man in town, yet you have so much more than his wife. You never want for anything -- dresses, jewelry, shoes, books. While you were quite content with it at first, eventually you realised it meant... not much. Every night you sit in front of your fire, dressed in something imported from Paris, a glass of expensive wine in your hand on a luxurious couch that Jesse had made for you, and wait for your husband to come home. The things mean nothing if you have no one to share them with. The house might as well be empty if it's just you in there. You miss your husband.

A night comes where you haven't seen him in two days. You're worried, and eventually it the anxiety eats at you. You dress, put your hair up and make your way to the Sheriff's office, glancing at every face as you pass, just in case it's him. The main street of Little Justice is a short walk from your home, and when you arrive there it dawns on you how active the town is at night now. When you first married Jesse, no one really came into the town after dark unless they had to. Now, though, it's busting with people. There seem to be drunks everywhere, and women of... loose morals in as many numbers. Several smaller bars' music spills into the street, and you make an effort to hurry past, not wanting to draw too much attention from the wrong people.

The Little Justice Hotel, the largest in town, catches your eye as you pass. It's like a beacon of light in the street. When you were young, it was only the one story, but now it had a second, both porches full of people. Lots of them in Deadlock colors. It's thriving. You suppose that for all of Deadlock's wrongdoing, Jesse was right about it bringing life to Little Justice.

It's then that you spot it -- Jesse's horse, hitched up in front of the hotel. You stop dead in your tracks. He's back in town? And didn't come home first? Frowning, you change your course, making a beeline for the saloon doors, walking past everyone on the porch, head held high. They all know who you are. Jesse is just as prolific within the ranks of Deadlock, enough so that he commands respect that carries on to you as his wife. He's a sharp shot, just as he was in his youth, but it's so sharp that it's _unheard of_. So true is his aim, so formidable is he in any shootout that he even has a nickname -- Deadeye.

When you enter the Hotel you can feel a fair share of eyes on you, but no one hollers at you or otherwise disrespects you. A few Deadlock men even tilt their hats, one in the group uttering a quiet 'Ma'am.' You stop at the bar, waiting quietly until the barman can get to you. You open your purse, your gloved fingers dipping in and removing a $100 note. It's nothing to you. Not when there's a seething anger building up inside of you that you don't like. "I'm lookin' for my husband," you say with a smile, sliding the note across the bar, closing your purse with the other hand and offering a very polite, very society smile, doing your best to copy the Mayor's wife. "Any idea where I might find 'im?"

The barman looks to you, then to the note, and offers you a gentle smile of his own as he takes it and calmly folds it in half. "Through that hallway there," he says, tilting his head to the right and placing the folded note in his breast pocket. "Third door on the right. The one labelled 'private.' Believe he's havin' a meetin', Mrs. McCree."

You give him a polite nod and follow his directions, passing a group of prostitutes on the way. It crosses your mind that they no doubt propositioned your husband. God help him if you find out he so much as considered it. When you arrive at the door, you consider knocking, but decide against it. You want to see exactly what it is that is so important that your husband can't come home first to tell you he's okay. You open the door and step inside without a word.

There's a few people in the room who flinch when you enter, but they figure out pretty quickly you aren't a threat. The room is dimly lit and full of smoke, and you do all you can to stop yourself from coughing. Behind a mahogany desk sits Sam, one of the men Jesse works with closely in Deadlock. You've met him before. You don't like him at all. He makes you uneasy. Jesse sits in front of it, feet kicked up on the desk, a cigar in his mouth, genuinely surprised to see you, while another face you don't recognise looks you up and down from the side of the desk.

You take a step forward, and to your luck Jesse speaks, saving you the first word. "Darlin!" He exclaims, smiling. He quickly rises from his seat, stepping to you and taking you in his arms. "Well, if this ain't a surprise!" He takes the cigar out of his mouth and kisses you, seeming genuinely pleased to see you. You don't resist the kiss, deciding to reserve your anger for later -- although you wish you had. He smells like smoke and sweat and whisky and god knows what other kind of liqueur. You take a deep breath as he steps back, looking to the two men at the desk. "Sorry, boys. Can't help myself when she's as beautiful as the day I married 'er." He looks to you quickly as he puts the cigar back in his mouth, quickly taking your hand and leading you forward. "Darlin', you already know Sam," he says, Sam giving a nod, which you politely return. "And this," he says, gesturing to the other man at the end of the table. This man is much older, and while he isn't as slimy as Sam looks, something about the way he looks at you makes you uneasy. "This is Arnold. You 'member Wicker?" He asks.

"I'm afraid I'm yet to be introduced, but you've spoken of them, yes," you reply, your tone a little pointed.

"Well, Arnold here is Wicker's second," he explains.

Arnold gives you a polite nod. "Yes, I'm afraid I'm the reason your husband has been somewhat... absent, as of late," he explains, his tone somewhat sympathetic. "I must apologise."

"No need," you reply, doing your best to seem genuine. "Jesse's always had himself a good work ethic." You smile and pat a hand against Jesse's chest. "I just hope ya'll ain't tired of 'im yet. He can be a little tryin'." You glance to him playfully, eliciting a laugh from Sam and Arnold. You look back to Arnold. "I was just hopin', if ya'll ain't got much more t' discuss, that I might bring my husband home fer' the night."

"Of course," Arnold says with a smile. "I think we were just about done here, McCree," he says, addressing your husband. "We'll see you tomorrow, then." Jesse gives Arnold a nod, but he speaks again, suddenly, catching you off guard. "If I might offer, Mrs McCree," he begins, "Jesse has spoken quite highly of you. We could always use a woman of your intelligence in our operation."

You give a gentle chuckle. "As kind as the offer is," you retort, "I'm already quite busy as it is. The head midwife in town just had a baby of her own. Lotta' work for me lookin' forward."

Arnold smiles, nodding as though he expected this. "Of course," he agrees. "Should you change your mind, however, let your husband know. With us you can see the world, dance with royalty..." there's a pause. "Even meet with the most advanced medical practitioners the world has to offer." Your heart all but stops and you know that your smile falters for a moment. "We'd consider you very valuable to our organisation."

You force your smile again, taking Jesse's hand in your own. "What a generous offer," you say, taking a step back to leave. "I'll certainly have t' consider it." You smile and give a polite nod to both the men at the desk as you lead your husband out of the room. "Enjoy your evening."

Without another word, you lead Jesse out of the room, through the Hotel and into the street. You don't let go of his hand until you're inside your home, worried that you might somehow lose him if you do. When you do release him, however, you all but throw his hand away. "What's t'morrow, then?" You ask, your words pointed, heading straight to the living room.

Jesse follows you, much more relaxed as he watches you open the liquor cabinet behind the small private bar you have. You're not usually one to drink, but you're so angry that you're willing to try anything right about now. "'Nother job. Nothin' major," he dismisses. "How'd ya' get in there?" He asks. "Surprised the barman even let ya' through."

You select a whisky, taking two glasses and placing them on the bar beside the bottle. You suppose Jesse will want one, too. "I gave 'im $100 to tell me where my _husband decided_ t' be insteada' comin' home to his wife."

He chuckles, approaching the bar as you pour, reaching up to scratch at his beard. This surprises you. Your words were pretty sharp, he really should have picked up on the hint. You wonder how much he's had to drink. "You tellin' me," he begins, smiling as he comes to your side, even though you're stone-faced, "that you walked into the Little Justice Hotel, bribed th' barman and then walked right in t' Deadlock's private room, all by y'self?" You give a silent nod, sliding his glass to him as you down yours, and he laughs. "Darlin', I'm impressed." He steps closer, behind you, his body against your back, his breath on your neck. "In fact," he says, his hands sliding around your waist as you slam your glass down on the bar, "kinda' does somethin' t' me, thinkin' of ya' takin' charge like that, breakin' the rules." He turns you around and moves to kiss you, but you duck your head of of the way as he backs you up against the bar, kissing your neck instead. He lifts you up by the waist, sitting you on the bar, your legs either side of him as he kisses the skin on your chest that your dress exposes. "Why don't y' show me how much of a bad girl ya' are?" He pushes up your skirts, exposing your legs, his hands sliding up them. You've been stone faced and non-responsive this entire time.

"Jesse," you warn, your jaw tensing. He ignores you, one of his hands moving over your thigh, resting on the inner part for a moment before moving to graze over your underwear, his free hand coming behind your head to pull you into a kiss. You squeeze your eyes shut and seize up, throwing your hands against him, pushing him off you. "Jesse!" You shout, pulling your skirts down as he steps back, a look of surprise on his face.

"Woah," he says, palms up in innocence as you jump down from the bar, storming away to the other side of the room. "Darlin', I'm sorry, I thought--"

"You ever think to _ask?_ " you snap, stopping in front of the fireplace, crossing your arms.

He frowns, taking a few steps towards you, but not too many. "Everythin' alright, Darlin'?"

Unable to contain it, you give a laugh of disbelief, shaking your head. "Where were you?" You ask. "It's been _two days,_ Jesse. You didn't even tell me you was goin'."

"Look, Darlin'," he begins, "I'm sorry. Sometimes somethin' jus' comes up and I don't got time t'--"

"Bullshit!" You snap, visibly surprising him. Honestly, you even surprise yourself a little. "You coulda' left me a note, Jesse. You coulda' woke me up." There's a long pause, a silence that settles in the room. "I wanna move," you say suddenly. "I wanna move outta' Little Justice. Outta' the county. Away from Deadlock."

He blinks, processing this. "Now, look, I know yer' mad, but--"

"No," you interrupt again, "I ain't jus' _mad,_ Jesse," you explain. "It was one thing when they jus' had ya' takin' bribes and fakin' paperwork. That wasn't gonna get ya' killed." You gesture around the room. "When was the last time you was home for more than a week?" You ask. It's rhetorical. You know he can't name it, either. "I spend so much time here alone, Jesse, worried sick about you. Wonderin' if you're gonna come home drunk or come home bleedin' this time. If y' even come home alive." You aren't sure when you started crying, but you definitely are. "Quit Deadlock, Jesse. Please."

He slowly approaches you, his steps cautious. "Darlin', it ain't that simple. I'm sorry." He's standing in front of you now. "But I'm gonna be fine. You ain't gotta be worried. I'm Deadeye, after all."

He reaches out to take you into his arms, but you step back, pushing him away. "Don't touch me," you warn. "I'm serious, Jesse. I don't like those people, they're... they're doin' somethin' t' you."

"This cause'a what Arnold said?" He asks. "'Bout medical practitioners? Look, Darlin', I'm sorry I told 'im but I thought maybe he could help."

"No," you reply. "Don't you make it about this, Jesse."

He crosses his arms, frowning. "Well I don't know what else t' tell ya," he says bluntly. "Maybe ya'll best just worry 'bout your own business n' let me handle mine."

"Really?" You ask. "You're gonna be like this? After... after what ya' did t'night?! Not comin' home and goin' t' a bar?" You ask. "What were ya' doin' that meant ya' couldn't come here?" You ask, beside yourself with disbelief that he's reacting like this, being dismissive of you. "Were you, what, whorin'?"

He scoffs and rolls his eyes at this. "You need t' calm down."

"And you need t' listen t' me fer' once in yer' life!" You shout, frustrated.

"I just can't understand ya' problem!" He finally snaps. "I give ya' everythin' ya ever wanted. Dresses, furniture, books, whatever it is ya' ask fer, ya' get. Why can't ya' just be happy?" He shrugs dramatically. "Oh, except a baby, even though that ain't _my_ fault. Sure ya' can still finda' way t' blame me for _your_ problem, though."

Your jaw drops, your eyes wide, absolutely gobsmacked that he'd say this to you. "Jesse," you whisper. "This ain't you. I... I can't believe you'd..."

"And I can't believe you're takin' it out on me 'cause you ain't workin' properly."

You fall silent, looking downwards, completely taken aback by shock. You don't know what kind of face Jesse is making. You don't even _want_ to know what kind of face he's making, honestly. You can feel the tears running down your face, red hot, the fact you're crying at all making you feel utterly ashamed. Finally, you find it in you to speak again. "You call whoever's rentin' the Ranch," you say, your voice shaking, "an' you ask 'em if the guest house behind th' barn got a bed in it."

"Why?" he asks, watching as you storm past him, your hand flying to your own face to cover your mouth, trying to muffle a sob. "Hey, where you goin'?" He shouts, following you up the stairs and to your room.

"I'm stayin' there t'night," you call to him, walking into your room and opening your draws, looking for essentials like underwear. "You technically own it so I can stay in that guest house," you grab a handful of what you think is what you're looking for, your hands shaking. "You can stay here and find out what this house is like when it's just _you_ in here."

"You can't do that," he says, watching as you reach under your bed and remove a small suitcase.

You shake your head, eyes blurry with tears. "You ain't in _no_ position t' tell me what I can and _can't_ do right now," you growl, your voice full of anger.

"No," he insists, his voice suddenly soft. "I mean you _can't_ do that. It... it ain't possible."

"Why?" You scoff. You don't believe him at all.

He pauses, watching as you throw things into the suitcase. "'Cause ain't no one renting it out," he says. "Deadlock been usin' it as a storage house."

You freeze, looking up at him very, very slowly, a small part of you hoping this is some kind of sick joke. You don't need his confirmation though. His expression is enough. "What..." you say, slowly and deliberately, "are they storin'... in my Daddy's ranch?"

There's a graveness to his expression, one he gets when he has bad news. He knows this is bad, and now so do you. "...Mostly drugs and weapons." It takes you a moment to process this, but when you do, your body starts to shake uncontrollably as you cover your face with your hands, losing all will to hold back the sobs that come out of you as your heart breaks because your husband, the man you love and trust more than anyone, lied to you about the house you grew up in, something he knows is _so important_ to you _._ Something he's sullied forever. "Can't you understand?" He asks. "I did this all for you, Darlin'. Please." This... this tone he's taking, like he's begging, like he has no idea what he's done, snaps you. He knows _exactly_ what he's done.

"No!" You shout. "No, Jesse, you didn't!" Your chest actually physically hurts. "You did this for... for yer' fuckin' Deadlock gang!" You actually hate him. You hate the man standing across from you and it _terrifies_ you. "I thought you were good, Jesse! But I was _wrong!_ You're no better than them! You ain't good, and you ain't ever gonna be!"

"You take that back," he warns, pointing at you. There's something in his eyes you've never seen before, something that scares you, something you've only seen in him once before -- when he was looking at those Rustlers all those years ago. The same look he has in his eyes when he wants to hurt someone.

You aren't sure if you're being defiant or if you're in so much turmoil with feelings you never wanted to feel that you've gone insane, but you look him dead in the eye. "You're a bad man, Jesse McCree," you spit. "You ain't _ever_ gonna change."

The two of you stare eachother down for what seems like an eternity, your heart racing, that same look in his eyes. If he hurts you, if he crosses that line, so be it. It wouldn't surprise you anymore. You don't know who this person is. You don't know what else he's lied to you about.

"Fine," he growls, "fine then. That gang ya' hate so much? We'll they gave me a job t'morrow that's gonna pay me so much that I'm gonna pay fer ya t' move as far away as ya' want." He turns and begins to storm out. "Can't have someone as perfect as you livin' with someone as awful as me, can we?"

Realising what's happening, you follow, running a little to keep up. "Jesse," you warn, following him down the stairs, your voice panicked. What job? What kind of job pays that much? "Jesse, don't--"

"Maybe I'll get myself a new wife," he mumbles to himself as you come to a stop, watching him grab his hat and belt from the rack by the front door. "One that can do her damned job n' give us a kid."

This all but silences you as he opens the door. It seems to happen in slow motion, but you manage to speak his name a final time, and on hearing it he stops. You're all but gasping for air as you cry, your voice is unstable, your chest is aching. "If you walk out that door," you warn, "I ain't gonna be here when y' come back."

He turns and glances at you from the corner of his eye. You're a pathetic sight, really. Gripping your skirts in your hands as though you might fall apart any second, your eyes are wide, your face is red and puffy, your lips swollen from crying so much. Even though he's hurt you so much in ways previously unimaginable to you, you hope he'll take pity and stay. You hope he'll change his mind. You hope he'll stay.

The door closes.

You stare in silence.

It stays closed.

When you realise he's left, that he's not coming back, that he isn't changing his mind, you squeeze your eyes shut. As you sob in a way that makes you feel like you're going to choke on your own heart, you sink to the floor.

You hold your face in your hands as you cry, and wish you hadn't said anything at all.

* * *

Jesse doesn't come home the next day. It hardly surprises you. You would have been shocked if he had.

But then another day passes. He's left his cigars and his watch here. He's left his father's glasses here, too. You had expected him to come back for those, or at least send someone to do it for him. And if he's serious about leaving you, he has to send you some kind of divorce papers. You wait all morning. Nothing.

Until the door knocks. You rush to it, expecting to see Jesse, hoping it's him. If it is, you'll do whatever he wants. You'll apologise, you'll grovel, you'll take everything back if he'll just stay.

But it's not him. It's the Sheriff.

"Oh god," you exhale. "Is he in jail?"

You've known Sheriff Cummings for a long time. He actually worked with Jesse right up until Jesse quit. Usually, this kind of thing would be something Cummings would laugh at. But he doesn't.

"Mrs McCree..." he says, his voice soft, taking off his hat. Your heart all but stops. "Would you... mind if I come inside?" He asks. "It's about Jesse."

The next two hours are a blur. Cummings tells you what happened, sure, but your brain only really processes it in fragments. There was a train robbery in Jerome, the next town over. Deadlock were involved. Something called Overwatch showed up. Something about missiles. He tells you something about Jesse that seems to make your brain lock up whenever you try to recall it.

Millie arrives eventually. You don't remember calling her or anything, but Cummings effectively passes you over to her. You're just really staring blankly at the fire as she tries to comfort you. "I'm so sorry," she says over and over. She says she's going to stay here with you for a while, that one of her friends is going to look after the baby for her. "I'm so sorry." After a while you feel her hand on her shoulder. "Honey, I know this is hard, but can you say somethin' fer me?" She asks gently. "Anythin'? So i know you're gonna be 'right without a Doctor?"

You open your mouth, your brain seemingly rebooting, finally kicking into action. Deadlock tried to rob a train between Jerome and New Prosperous. Some kind of law enforcement called Overwatch showed up. Overwatch had missiles. No survivors found. Half the train went up in an explosion. Very little was recovered.

"All they found was his arm," you manage to choke before it finally hits you, like a cold, hard wave of cement. You gasp for breath as Millie grabs your hand, your face twisting in agony. You let out a scream of anguish, doubling over in your seat, your head in your hands as you sob with the force of your entire body.

Your husband is dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. But I'm not sorry.


	13. How The West Was Won

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW:  
> More sex (!!!)  
> Mention of stalking

Your fingers grip on the fabric of your bedroll as you try to muffle a sigh. Part of you knows that Ana won't mind hearing anything -- she was the one that suggested you two 'get some rest together' while she kept watch, a knowing look on her face -- but you still want to be polite.

You look up at the lining of the tent and wonder how you got so lucky. Sure, technically your ex-husband has kidnapped you and forced you to help him and a small division of Overwatch hunt down the most dangerous gang you can think of... but you also have an incredibly attractive and talented Japanese archer's head between your legs, and he is _going to town._

"Jesus!" You gasp before slapping your hand over your mouth. He is _incredibly_ good at this. You've had more than a few men attempt before, but most of them are sloppy. They have no actual knowledge of the anatomy of woman's parts beyond what you assume they've read in dirty books, and it usually seems like they've never had a woman give them feedback beyond faking an orgasm before. But Hanzo? He does it with a finesse you have never seen before, and you honestly get the feeling that he absolutely loves it. You glance down at him and notices the way he gazes up at you as he works and _holy shit_ if that isn't one of the single most arousing things you have ever experienced...

Your back begins to arch, that familiar tension building up in you, your chest tightening, your mouth parting. "Stop," you whisper, "I'm gonna come before you can--"

"Good," is all he says in response, taking the split second to speak and smirk at you before continuing. He hits that spot perfectly again, his arms looping around the back of your legs, fingers gripping your inner-thighs to hold your legs apart. He knows what's about to happen. You know what's about to happen. One of your hands grips the bedroll as you feel the wave begin to rise, the other coming to rest on his head, your fingers tangling in his hair. His grip on your legs tighten and... there it is. You grind your teeth together, a high-pitched, long whine emitting from your throat as you throw your head back into the pillow. Your hips buck, trying as hard as possible to get closer to the source of pleasure, your eyes squeezing shut, your world stopping for a moment.

When you return back to earth, catching your breath, he makes his way up your body, taking your face in his hands as you lean up to meet him, kissing you with a fire that lights your own again. The kiss is deep, one where you try to almost swallow each other whole, your tongues meeting halfway. You can taste yourself on him. Oh _god._ You wrap your legs around him as he enters you, desperate to have him again, so grateful for what he's given you tonight. Your fingers claw at his back and his teeth graze against your lips, the connection between you a basal one, something you feel at the very core of yourself as an animal. His arms tense against you as he braces them, his thrusts deepening, making you gasp. God, his arms alone are enough to get you going, and as you run a hand down one you wonder how you ever lived without them.

He growls and shifts himself, leaning back and resting on his knees, pulling out of you for a moment. Taking your calves in his hands, he raises them until your ankles are resting on his shoulders, and after making eye contact to read your expression, he enters you again. You can't help it this time -- you give a very loud, very sharp whine of pleasure, the view of your legs over his shoulders as he takes you deeply flushing you with heat all over. One of his hands moves from your leg to hold your breast as he fucks you, the other bouncing with the movement, and holy shit his rough hands feel _so good,_ they're so strong and --

Your core tenses again. "I'm..." you whisper, biting at your lip, his eyes meeting yours, the expression on his face turning your mind to mush for a moment. "I'm... gonna..."

He nods silently, grunting a little, his pace speeding, fucking you harder as one of your hands rests against his chest, the other coming to hold the arm that's pinning his hand to your breast. He groans your name and that's it -- you're lost again, hips rising to meet his, your grip on him tightening. You can feel yourself tensing around him in pulses, which you suspect is what sends him over the edge to follow you, a long, harsh growl spilling from his gritted teeth as he releases into you.

Your brain hazy, you lay there, Hanzo in the same position as you both come down. Eventually, you look up at him and smile, laughing a little when he returns it. He lays down beside you, kissing your cheek as you reach over and brush his hair from his face. At some stage, it came loose, although you aren't sure when. "Don't think I ever seen ya' with your hair down," you note.

"And I do not think I've ever seen you with yours up," he replies, his head resting down on the pillow, visibly exhausted. There's a pause as he gives a long, content sigh, extending his arm out so you can come to rest beside him and lay your head on his shoulder.

"I usedta'," you reply. "Back when I was... younger." It crosses your mind that you haven't told him that you were _married_ to Jesse, but you decide that now isn't the time, even if you've been putting it off.

He smiles his head resting against yours a little. "I would like to see that one day," he muses. "You have a beautiful neck."

"That's an... awfully specific appraisal," you laugh.

Hanzo shrugs beneath you. "I believe that everyone can notice small things about their lover," he says, glancing to you. "For example, when you laugh sometimes, you snort. Just a little."

"Oh god," you say, your face flushing a little. "I was hopin' no one noticed."

"Perhaps they don't. But I did," he teases. "I think it's adorable. Perhaps you are not made of stone."

There's a pause. "I like ya' arms," you offer.

"I knew that," he replies, causing you to blink. "Do not think I have not noticed you stare." He hesitates for a moment. "...Or the way you touch them."

"Hey now," you say, pursing your lips and shifting against the shape of him more. You fit together so perfectly. "You can't tell me that you aren't aware of..." you trail off. He's laughing. Damnit. "Well, I like ya' hands, too," you continue, ignoring him. "And the way I can always feel ya' watchin' me."

Hanzo's laughter simmers away and he turns his head to glance at you. "Really?" He asks.

"Yeah," you say with a nod. "It ain't in a creepy way. It's just... knowing ya' 'round. Lookin' out for me. Makes me feel safe, ya' know?"

He studies your expression for a moment, although something in his eyes seems... touched by this. "I will admit, this surprises me." He smiles for a moment, his arm giving you a squeeze. "There is a resilience in you," he explains. "I worry that one day, I may be overbearing."

"One day?" You ask. "Sounds like you got some long term plans fer us there, Mr Shimada."

His eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and back. He wants to kiss you, but he's holding off. "If you would have me," he says.

You beat him to it, kissing him, your hand coming to his face, your thumb grazing over the coarseness of his beard. "I admit, I do find that _most_ agreeable," you whisper.

"Then I will find a way for us." His reply is matter of factly, and you both close your eyes, brows pressed together, taking in the feeling of each other. It's like there's a magnetic pull between you, and even though you know your time tonight is limited, and this this situation is complex, you'll find your way back to each other.

"Much as I'd like y' t' stay here all night," you whisper, "you'd better get back t' camp 'fore our friend gets back."

Hanzo nods, exhaling, his free arm moving down to squeeze your hip. "When will we tell him?" He asks. "I know he has been unkind to you, but he is still..." he trails off. Hanzo knows he doesn't need to finish that sentence.

"I know." You give him a quick kiss before moving, pulling yourself up, realising how shaky your legs are. You stretch your arms, watching as Hanzo follows your example, sitting up beside you. "After this whole mess is over an' done," you reply. "Th' less complications, th' quicker I think this whole thing'll be over."

You watch as he dresses, breaking your vision every now and then to pull on clothes of your own. When you're both dressed, you share another kiss, resisting the urge to pull him back to the bedroll, and leave the tent, making your way to the firepit where Ana sits with her tea and a book.

"Any good?" You ask her, glancing to the book, taking a seat beside her.

She shrugs, placing her bookmark between the pages and closing it. "Cliche'd, predictable... yet still satisfying, I suppose. If I'm to be honest?" She asks. "I do not think I would enjoy anything more serious right now." She pauses, glancing at you before returning her eyes to the fire. "Fix your hair, dear."

Your hands shoot up to your head, frantically smoothing it down. Ana is right -- it was all over the place. "Thanks," you say with a nervous laugh, glancing to Hanzo, who is chuckling a little to himself.

* * *

Jesse has a lot of time for thinking on the ride back to camp.

He's done exactly what he promised. He took the kid to Ogdenville, had him put in lockup and comm'd Winston. It means the extraction team is leaving a little early, but everything that she'd said when he had Charlie tied up was true. He's a man of his word. Charlie will be extracted as soon as they arrive, then his... girlfriend? Wife? He didn't make it clear. All Jesse knows is that she's important. Kid nearly died for her. Usually he'd feel good knowing that kind of thing. A little hope left in the world when everything else is so shit, right? But it's sitting uncomfortably with him this time.

"While I've got you," Winston asks over the comms, "what are we going to do with her when the mission's complete?"

"Whatta' ya' mean?" Jesse replies dismissively. "We give her a ride back t'... wherever she wants t' be dropped off, I guess."

There's a pause on the other end. "...I don't think that's very fair." Winston's words are slow, deliberate, every outcome analysed before they're spoken. Jesse has always put that down to him being a scientist, but he's also learned over time that Winston is... soft. Cares about his team's feelings. A lot more than Reyes did, anyway. Overwatch isn't just units and positions to fill to Winston - they're his family. Jesse has always liked that about him. In hindsight, it's probably why he responded to the recall as quickly as he did.

Jesse grunts, mounting himself up on his horse before responding. "She's gettin' a massive payout once this is over, just like I said in the mission brief. She'll be happy with that."

"The briefing neglected to mention that your 'contact' was your wife," Winston replies, his tone ever-so-pointed, about as pointed as it gets before things get heated.

"Ex-wife," Jesse corrects. "Might wanna update your records, there."

He can hear the sound of typing in the background. "That's the thing," Winston begins, a short puff of air following. Jesse can vividly picture him frowning. He'll probably push his glasses up in a second. "None of your records say anything about you being married."

Jesse shrugs, although he's aware Winston can't see it, not that it matters. "Got Reyes t' leave it out when I was... forcibly recruited," he explains.

"Why would you do that?" He asks, audibly bewildered. "She would have qualified for Overwatch benefits and prote--"

"I got my reasons," Jesse butts in.

There's a pause. More typing, the hammering of Winston's fingers on the keys more and more urgent. "Right," he finally says, moving on, accepting that as all he was going to get. "Here's the thing, though," he says, the typing stopping. He has what he wants in front of him. "Remember a few months back?" He asks. "How we had you guys infiltrate that Talon facility and get out with that data?"

"Yeah," Jesse says with a smile. That was a good one. They managed to get in and out without anyone realising they'd breached the building further than the lobby. Jesse, Ana and Genji in the lobby, Hanzo scaling the side of the building to get to the server room.

"I ran a search to see if there was anything relevant to your mission," he explains. "Trying to find out if there was anything linked to Deadlock." There's a pause. "Reyes has a whole file on her." Jesse raises an eyebrow as Winston continues. "Known aliases, past residences, general work-hours -- pretty much everything you'd have in a surveillance file, and all up to date."

He's aware that Winston thinks this should surprise him, but it doesn't. Jesse merely chuckles to himself. "'Course he got a file on her. Classic Reyes." He shakes his head. "How often's it updated?"

Winston lets out a 'hmm' and there's a pause. "Roughly every six months or so. Some reports are more detailed than others."

"I'd dare say the detailed ones are the ones Reyes has made 'imself," Jesse muses. "Always was a stickler for detail."

The response doesn't come right away. Winston is thinking again. Analysing the outcomes. "You don't think she's working for them, do you?" He asks. "This file is... comprehensive."

"There any photos of her?" Jesse asks quickly.

"Yeah, an entire folder. Hundreds."

Although Jesse never suspected it, his shoulders drop a little, whatever doubt he had vanishing. "Then she ain't workin' for 'em," he replies with a definitive tone. "If Reyes had a sleeper agent, he wouldn't have any photos of 'em on file," he explains. "Not when there's people as good as stealin' information out there as us. He's smarter than that." He shifts a little on the saddle, giving an exhale as he rolls his head from side to side, stretching his neck. When this is over, he's having the longest bath that he can manage without dying in the tub. "She got value," Jesse continues. "She was the weak link in my chain 'fer a while. Reyes was prolly keepin' her in his back pocket 'case I stepped too far outta' line." He says this like he isn't already 100% aware of this, like it's just a theory instead of something he knows is absolutely definite. "Only nowadays he's doin' it 'case I get too close."

Another pause. "But she's not anymore?" Winston asks carefully, a vague hint of disbelief in his tone.

Jesse rolls his eyes. "Psshhh," he scoffs, "'naw. Not since Angie." Lie. "I moved on," lie, "she's moved on," truth that he refuses to believe sometimes, "it's over n' done." Jesse has no idea if the last part was factual at all. In way it is -- the way she turned him down before would be enough for him to go off. But when he thinks about her... sometimes he looks at her and forgets anything went wrong, and for a split second he thinks of her as his wife and will think of how lucky he is. But then the split second will be over, and he remembers, and he finds himself wading through thoughts of how he acted and how he wronged her.

  
There's a silence from the other end. No typing, no puffs of air. Just silence. For a second, Jesse wonders if Winston has hung up or something. "In any case," he finally speaks, his tone more official than before. An order is coming. "Bring her in for a medical, just in case. Don't want to send her home in anything but full health, and Dr Ziegler will want to check her arm." There's another pause. "Regardless of how _you_ feel about that." Boom. Nailed it. The thought of her meeting Angie makes him nervous, to say the least. He's never told Angie about her. In fact, he's never told _anyone_ about her until now. Good shot, Winston.

"Alright," he exhales, defeated, "but if she ain't agreeable t' the whole thing, I ain't helping you two hold her down on th' table." There's a pause. "Who's on the extraction team, anyway?" He asks.

"I've sent out Genji, Hana, Dr Ziegler and Fareeha," he replies.

"Genji, huh?" He repeats, smiling to himself. "Always kinda' wondered how he'd do out here-- wait," Jesse pauses. "...Hana? Really?" Winston grunts in the affirmative. "Yer' gonna give th' locals a heart attack, ya' know that?"

Winston chuckles to himself. "Do your job right and she won't have to leave the ship."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter was a little shorter than usual, guys. I've been very under the pump at work and Christmas is coming up and I am horrendously stressed, and I couldn't think of a way to extend this to be longer without fucking up the flow of the story.
> 
> Once again, thank you so much for all your beautiful comments, especially on the last chapter which was a very, very hard write for me. As always, you can follow me on twitter at https://twitter.com/elizabethdanger where I do a lot of shitposting and also updates on the fic. I also just did an overwatch headcanon meme thing and it got REALLY OUT OF CONTROL. You can check the thread out here https://twitter.com/elizabethdanger/status/809918507332812804
> 
> Hope everyone is doing okay during pre-holiday madness. <3


	14. Requiescant

_**Years Ago...** _

_**\---** _

Jesse McCree isn't a religious man. Well, at least not to the level he should be, anyway. Sure, he accompanied his wife to church when she went, they got married in one, after all. But he's never really believed it. He needs proof of things. He needs to see them. Hear them with his own ears.

Strange, he thinks, that god has rewarded him with the proof he needs only after he's died. And he hasn't just died. He's died sinfully, robbing a train, his wife ready to leave him. His wife who he's been deceiving for years. Yet, despite the bad things he's done, an angel stands over him. She's actually _glowing_ , and smiling, and her voice is soft, and she's the most beautiful thing he has ever seen in his entire life.

"I'm sorry," he says, his throat dry, his voice a crackling, tired whisper. She raises an eyebrow, but her smile stays, her hand coming to rest on his shoulder. A gesture of comfort.

"For what?" She asks.

His body feels heavy. Sleepy. But good. Overwhelmed with... something. A euphoria. Has he actually made it to heaven anyway? Has god forgiven him for everything? "For all th' sinnin'."

As the seconds pass and his awe deepens, more and more comes into focus. There's a world outside of this beautiful creature's face, it seems. It's white and sterile. There's lights, some softer, further away, one that's incredibly bright and seemingly hovering over him. At first he thought he'd been floating, but he slowly realises he's in a bed, a stiff sheet over his torso, a pillow behind him. She has something in her hands, and is tapping away at it. Aren't angels meant to have harps?

Then another layer of whatever has been coating his brain begins to melt away. He's in a hospital. And she's just checking his vitals. He can't help but watch her as she pokes away at something he's hooked up to. Still looks like an angel, though. She turns back to him, walking around the bed to the other side of him. "Any pain?" She asks. She has an accent that he wants to try and place, but can't. God, he's nowhere near as worldly as he thought he was. This hospital is far more advanced than anything he's ever seen before.

"Naw," he croaks, wincing as he shakes his head. "I mean, my side's stingin' a lil' an my ears are hurtin', and my knee--"

"So that's a yes, then?" She asks, smiling a little, shaking her head. She taps something away at the... thing in her hand and the pain dissipates, more of the euphoria setting in on his body. Morphine, maybe. He's has that before. That computer boar thingy she has must be hooked up to whatever drip is in his right arm. As soon as he glances at the crook of his right elbow, her hand is on his shoulder again, a little firm. "Jesse?" She asks. She knows his name? He's glad. Something about the way she says it...

"Yeah," he says. "That's right."

She takes a deep breath, looking aside for a moment, a gentle sadness in her eyes as she momentarily sucks on her lip. "There are some things you need to know," she says. "My name is Dr Ziegler, and..." she pauses. "You're probably wondering where you are."

Jesse gives a nod, although a weak one. "Figured I ain't close t' home," he admits. "This ain't... what I'm accustomed to, far as hospitals go."

Dr Ziegler gives a nod. "Correct. I'm not allowed to tell you where you are," she explains, "but I can tell you that it's an Overwatch base."

His eyes widen. Overwatch. He's heard that name. Someone shouted it when they started getting shot at during the... Jesse shifts, his body tensing, realising what's going on. The last thing he remembers is an explosion. He was hanging off the side of a carriage and then there was heat and noise and nothing to hold on to anymore. " _Shit,_ " he mutters, tensing his muscles to try and get out of the bed.

The hand on his shoulder squeezes, the other's palm firmly pushing down on his chest to bring him back down into a resting position. "It's alright!" She insists, her eyes wide. "You're not in danger."

"Why the hell would ya' blow me up, then?" He asks.

She looks away again. She knows, probably, but he doubts she'll tell him exactly why. "My Commander will tell you all about it," she replies. "But there's... something else I need to tell you. And I need you to remain calm." She looks him in the eye, her eyes locking with his. God, they seem to sparkle. Jesse gives a nod. "...You sustained some injuries. You have been mostly lucky. You have some quite severe burns, ligament damage in your knee... I suspect you may have some hearing loss, too, but we will have to wait and see what the severity is."  
She pauses again, swallowing her saliva, taking a breath. There's something else. It's troubling her. "Your left arm took quite a lot of damage..." Jesse tries to flex his fingers. He can't feel anything. That's not good. He can't look away from her, though. "We did what we could, but..." she gives a sharp exhale. "There is no easy way to say this." She glances down, his eyes following the path of hers to look at his arm.

His arm isn't there.

Jesse's eyes widen as he attempts to quickly sit up, panicked. Her hands remain. "Jesse," she warns again.

All he can manage is a short "Jesus."

"I'm so sorry." He looks up to her, breaking his gaze from the baffling sight of an arm that stops just below the elbow. No hand. Nothing. She looks... personally effected. "If there was anything I could have done..." she trails off, shifting, her head rising a little. "The good news is, though, that we can easily fit a prosthetic." There's a hint of hope there. That's hardly good news. They both know that. But she's trying to find a shred of anything positive for him and he can appreciate it. Maybe she really is an angel, after all. "We already have our people working on a fully functioning prosthetic for you. After some rehabilitation and practice it will be as though it's your own."

"When can I go?" He asks suddenly.

This seems to surprise her, and she gives a nod. He wonders if maybe she's his first patient, although he doubts it. She seems to be around his age, maybe younger, give or take. She doesn't exactly seem _nervous,_ though. Just... upset. "I'm on orders to keep you here for now, but the Commander will wish to speak with you."

"And how long will that take?" He asks.

She shrugs. "Once I tell him that you're awake and lucid?" She asks. "Not long at all." She pauses again, glancing to the doorway of the room before leaning in, her voice a whisper. "I would suggest you take his offer," she says. "The outlook is not good otherwise."

And like that, she backs up, taps something else on her little thing and turns. "Just press the call button on your bedside there if you need anything," she says, walking through the door. She's gone.

Jesse stares at his elbow in silence. It only just clicks with him now that he's shirtless, the bandages that cover the joint criss-crossing over his shoulder. His chest is peppered with little cuts, and when he gets curious about the pain in his side he lifts the sheet to see some kind of thick gauze covering the left flank of his torso.

He lays back into the bed, taking a deep breath, clothing his eyes. Shit. He's not entirely sure what's happening right now, but the people who'd saved his life are also the ones who tried to kill him in the first place, evidently. He can assume that isn't good sign at all, and tries to figure out what this offer is. His first thought is information. They'll want him to snitch on Albert and Sam. He doesn't doubt they're probably trying to find Wicker, but he's only ever actually _met_ Wicker three or four times, and always out and about on jobs.

His mind flickers to his wife, wondering if she's aware anything is wrong. He never came back, and despite how bad things got before he left, he fully intended to after the train job. She probably thinks he's actually left her. She's probably filing for a divorce right now. And there's absolute shit all he can do about it -- although he doubts there ever was. _"You're a bad man, Jesse McCree. You ain't ever gonna change."_ There was a time where Jesse thought he was doing okay. A time where he thought he genuinely was, for his shortcomings, a good man. Better than his father, at least. But there'd always been a voice in the back of his mind telling him he was an impostor, that he has a true nature. To hear her say it seemed to confirm it. He wouldn't want to be married to him, either.

The door clicks shut and he looks up. Someone new is in the room. A man. He doesn't seem friendly. "Back to the land of the living, then?" He asks, arms crossed.

"'Spose so," is all Jesse responds with, defensive from the outright.

The man crosses the room, taking a chair from the corner of the room and dragging it to the side of Jesse's bed. He sits down. "Jesse McCree," he begins, nodding as he recalls the information. "Former Deputy of Little Justice, took up with Deadlock." He glances to Jesse, trying to read his expression before he continues, satisfied with whatever he's gleamed from it. "We know very well what Deadlock do. Maybe if you'd stuck to smuggling drugs and guns, you'd only get six or seven years. But robbing a train?" He asks, a little smirk on his face. "Murder?" The man clicks his tongue, shaking his head. "You'll probably rot."

Jesse frowns, his jaw tensing. "What's ya' point?" He asks.

"It would be a great shame," the man begins, leaning in, elbows on his knees, "to see such a... _talented_ shot as yourself go to waste in prison." He gives pause. "I have done my research. For all your crimes, McCree, you've tried to balance it. You all but rebuilt your little town. Hospitals. A midwife's office. A school..." the man smiles again. "I think, perhaps, that you would be interested in making a difference."

"I ain't snitchin'," Jesse insists. "If that's what yer' askin'."

The man chuckles and shakes his head. "I would never dream of it," he replies, as though the suggestion were a mere joke. "My offer is much more beneficial." Another pause. "Now, you can go to prison, face your charges at full prosecution and not leave until you're an old man -- if you get to leave at all -- _or,_ " his smile shifts back into a smirk. "You can work for me and receive a full pardon."

Jesse grunts, shifting in the bed, not breaking his line of sight with this... whoever he is. He can assume, though that the beanie-clad figure sitting in the chair is the commander the Dr was talking about. "Work for you?" He repeats. "And what would that entail? I ain't no hitman."

"Well," he shrugs, "you'd be working for Overwatch, but you'd be reporting to me all the same. My division is... different. Requires a lot of skill that Overwatch doesn't usually allocate to their main operations," he explains. "Without going too much into it, it's a field that requires a lot of street smarts, a lot of charm and a lot of balls." Another pause. "Perfect for a man like you. Especially one who has..." the man breathes out in a manner that would make one think he's _enjoying_ this, that he's savouring it, "...nothing to go back to."

As much as Jesse hates the idea of working for 'the man,' the idea of selling out like a coward -- the offer is solid, and the Commander has a point. He really has nothing to go back to. If he could walk out of here tomorrow, he assumes that the prosthetic offer is only on the table if he stays. What will he do without it? He's can shoot with one, sure. But no one will take the risk on him. And there's no way Deadlock will believe he didn't snitch on them. They're paranoid like that. And his wife...

"What 'bout everyone back home?" Jesse asks suddenly. "Anyone know where I am?"

The man shakes his head. "We got you out of there without anyone detecting the extraction," he explains. "And I've got info that says the county has issued a death certificate for you. Once someone signs that, I think it's safe to say that everyone outside of Overwatch will think you're a dead man... also, your arm got blown off," he reminds you. "I think finding your arm and nothing else will lead them to a... certain conclusion."

There's a very heavy and tense silence in the air as Jesse processes this. She'll think he's dead. She'll probably have to sign the death certificate. She'll be a widow after that. Their marriage will cease to exist because Jesse will be, as far as anyone knows, dead. He takes a deep breath. Probably for the better, really. "So what happens?" He asks. "Gimme' the terms n' conditions."

He leans back in his seat, a somewhat self-assured expression on his face. "You join Overwatch. Minimum five years. You'll be welcome to leave after that..." his head tilts. The way he seems to be studying Jesse's expressions is unnerving, to say the least. "But something tells me you won't want to. I think you'll like it here." Another smirk. "For all intents and purposes you'll be the same as everyone else in Overwatch, same privileges, same rules. Only difference is that you'll be reporting to me a lot more than you'll be reporting to Morrison. And, of course, we'll have you fitted out with a new arm."

Jesse closes his eyes. He'd kill for a smoke right now. "Whatta' I gotta sign?" He asks, defeated.

The man reaches out, patting the flat of his hand on the side of Jesse's shoulder. "Good choice," he says, smiling. "Gabriel Reyes," he finally reveals, introducing himself. "I'll get someone to bring down the paperwork for you. Do you have any family?" He asks very suddenly. "Overwatch permits close family on base for the purposes of their safety. Any liabilities?"

"No," Jesse replies, a little too quickly. Still, though, he thinks he might get away with it if he's lucky.

He's not. Reyes raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms again. "From the intel I managed to gather, you're married," he says.

"Yeah, well..." Jesse exhales glancing away for a second, jaw tensing again. "I reckon' it'd be better fer everyone concerned if ya' just... did me a favour and kept that off whatever files ya' got on me," he says.

"Interesting," he muses. "Why is that?"

Jesse gives a quick huff. "Got my reasons."

The door opens suddenly, the Dr returning, a tray of stuff in her hands. She peeks her head in, as if to check the cost is clear before entering the room. "Sorry if I'm interrupting," she says, placing the tray down on a counter. "It's time for his medicine." Reyes gives her a polite nod and she comes around the other side of the bed, taking Jesse's right arm and turning it to see the cannula. "I'll be out of your hair in just a moment," she says, a little laugh in her voice as she unscrews the cap on one of the valves. She takes a few seconds to inject it with something from a needle and quickly re-seals it with the cap. "All done," she chimes. "How is your pain?"

Despite the tension in the room a matter of moments ago, Jesse finds himself unable to resist the temptation, giving a casual shrug and shooting her a little smile. "Thanks t' you?" He asks. "Feelin' right as rain." He watches her lift the sheet and check at the gauze on his flank. "Ya' got a name, Doc?" He asks. She responds with a raised eyebrow as he continues. "If I'm gonna be workin' here, reckon' I should know all of it. 'Specially after savin' my life."

She looks a little surprised, glancing to Reyes and then back to Jesse as she lowers the sheet. "Dr Angela Ziegler," she finally offers after a moment of hesitation. Angela. Even her name led him back to suspect that she really was sent from heaven. She steps back, satisfied with the state of him, and smiles. "Just call me if you need," she reminds him, before giving Reyes another polite nod and leaving the room again.

Reyes waits until she's well out of earshot before beginning to chuckle, shaking his head. "Well!" He laughs, Jesse's attention returning to him. "I see, I see." Reyes slaps Jesse on the shoulder, rising from his seat. "Say no more. I understand. Consider that information excluded." He shoots Jesse a wink and for a second Jesse automatically wants to correct him. He doesn't however. If it means keeping her off record, it means keeping her off record. He doesn't know a lot about these people, and the less they know about her, the better -- for her own safety. "Rest up," he advises, taking a few steps towards the door, his hand resting on the handle. "I'll get the paperwork down as soon as I can. Before you know it you'll have a new arm, a new job and a new life, McCree," he says. "You made the right choice."

The Commander leaves, door closing with a thud behind him and leaving Jesse alone in his bed. After a few minutes of silence, it all starts to dawn on him what's going on.

He doesn't know a lot about Overwatch. From what he's gathered from the few pieces of international news he's read, they fight Omnics, take down crime syndicates. Probably why they blew a good portion of Deadlock to hell and nearly sent him down with them. He finds himself laughing to himself a little. That probably makes them the good guys, right?

 _"You're a bad man, Jesse McCree."_ Goddamnit if that isn't going to haunt him forever. One of the last things she ever said to him... and here he is, ready to all but get down on one knee and propose to the Dr who he just met, totally enamoured with her, comparing her to otherworldly creatures when his actual wife was still out there. The wife he's concealing, the wife he's refusing to acknowledge. That's how messed up things got, he thinks, that he had to essentially die to even begin to right things. Now she can move on with her life, start again without him, free of Deadlock. That's what she'd wanted, right? It was all she wanted. Well, now she has it.

Maybe she'll be happier now. God knows she wouldn't have been happy with him in the end. Not after what he'd said. Not after those terrible, hurtful lies that he'd completely intended to stick with as long as he lived. She was right. He'd never been a good guy. He might have been for a while, but he turned bad, just like he was worried he would.

If Overwatch are the good guys, though, maybe he can fix things. Maybe he can find something else to fight for, something that he isn't going to hurt or lie to. Maybe he can do it for himself for a while, just to prove that he can be good. He doubts it, but he'd like to try. He supposes that this is still better than being dead, anyway.

Jesse closes his eyes and tries to sleep. In his mind's eye, he keeps picturing the Dr, the way she looked at him when he first woke up. An actual angel. How could anyone say no to being around her?

Realising what he's thinking, Jesse frowns and tries to focus on the painkillers in his system instead. Anything is better than sulking in the guilt he's making for himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very tired. Love you guys but this is going to be short on notes.  
> Love ya. Comments keep me alive. 1 comment = 1 prayer  
> (Big, super eventful chapter coming up next! It's a rollercoaster from here on out.)


	15. Duel at Sundown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Almost sex. Almost male-on-female violence.

You're packing up camp when Jesse approaches you the next morning, and although you expect him to do something brazen, something rude or even cold, he doesn't. Instead, he steps in, his voice low, looking downwards. "Can I talk t' ya 'bout something?"

His expression is sincere, concerned, even, and as much as you want to challenge him right now, you relent and follow him when he gestures for you to. Something's weighing on him, you can see it in how he walks, how he stands as he leads you away from the camp. Just a few paces, enough for some privacy.

"Thought I'd uh," he clears his throat, not making eye contact. "Thought I'd thank ya' fer yer help yesterday. Woulda' been a lot messier." There's a pause. "We talked on th' way. Kid was a good one. Reckon' he'll do well once he get outta' this mess."

You hesitate on a response, resisting the urge to make a smart comment or even utter the dreaded 'I told you so' that would be guarantee an argument. "...Just doin' th' right thing," is what you settle on.

He gives a silent nod, looking out into the horizon. "We're riding for Cochinay," he says. "You know where we gotta go through t' get there, yeah?"

A wave of something cold comes over you, a sense of dread. You realise after a few moments that time has past since he asked you, and you've been holding your breath. "Little Justice."

He nods again. "Thought I'd tell ya' first," he explains. "Didn't wanna... well, ya' know it's th' only way t' get to Cochinay, but just in case ya' forgot..." he trails off. "...You ever gone back?" He asks.

You shake your head. "No." Your voice is quiet, nervous. "Have you?"

Jesse shakes his head, not responding verbally. You're not surprised he's never returned. Why would he? Why would you? "C'mon," he says, turning and gesturing for you to follow him back to the camp. "Help me get this tent packed."

The rest of the packing process is quiet for you two. Points come where it looks like Jesse wants to say something to you, but will stop himself. When you start the ride, Hanzo asks if you're okay, his voice a whisper, his concern audible. You just nod, dismissing it, telling him you're just feeling out of sorts.

And then, after three or so hours of riding, a knot gathering in your centre the entire time, you see it: the steeple of the church you knew so well. You close in on the town, slowly riding through it. There's a tension in the air, and it seems to chill everyone to the bone.

"Where are we?" Ana asks as you ride down the main street, slowly, to take it in. Your heart sinks. Everything is boarded up. Every damned building. You don't know what you expected, really.

"Town's called Little Justice," Jesse replies flatly.

Something bubbles up in your throat, and before you can reason with yourself, you speak. "Can we stop?" You ask, your voice a little nervous, your hands fidgeting on the rim of the saddle that you share with Hanzo. Jesse glances back to you from his horse. "I'd... liketa' take a look around, if we got time."

You can see Ana glance between the two of you, an eyebrow raised when Jesse nods. "Sure." He brings his horse to a stand-still, the res of you following suit as he dismounts. "Reckon' we all take a break," he announces, leading his horse to an old, broken railing outside what used to be a general store to hitch it. "Meet back here before sundown." There's a pause before he glances to you. "Take yer time."

It's a comment that you'd usually take as snark, but for once, Jesse is being genuine. There's a softness in his eyes, one you haven't seen in a long time. You wonder if he feels the same way you do right now. Maybe. You wouldn't put it past him to just consider this an inconvenience.

Hanzo helps you down from the horse once it's hitched, his touch lingering ever so much, the most either of you are willing to risk when Jesse's nearby. "I'm gonna go off for a bit," you say to him quietly, shooting him a gentle smile.

"Is everything alright?" He asks, turning ever-so-slightly so his face is out of view should Jesse look over, his concern unmistakable.

"Yeah," you assure him. "I uh... I just grew up here."

You smile again before slowly walking away, although you're positive your expression isn't convincing anyone at all. You worry for a few moments that someone may try to follow you, but no one does. There's definitely an understanding.

The town is as you remember it in some ways, but in other ways it is not. You can remember the layout perfectly, passing the butcher, the bank and the pharmacy. You instinctively turn your head to look in the window of the dress-shop, the same way you did whenever you'd pass by it. It's boarded up. Just like everything else. The jail isn't boarded up, although it's visibly abandoned, the windows all smashed, parts of the exterior covered in Deadlock graffiti. You're tempted to step inside to see what of the interior survived, but you decide against it. The times where you visited to bring Jesse a home-cooked lunch are happy memories, memories that have somehow managed to stay untarnished or spoiled. You'd rather keep them that way.

You continue walking past the main street, following the path that leads to some of the farmyards. The path used to be well-worn, maintained by the constant traffic of horses and carriages. Now, though, it's overgrown, nothing but dust. You can remember spending so much time on this road as a teenager, walking to and from school, going to visit Jesse... for a second it's like you're back in time.

When you find yourself at the gates of the ranch, though, your face flushes with heat. You move to open the gate, but stop momentarily, you hand resting on the metal. Something in you is telling you to turn around, to go back, knowing there's pain in there. But you close your eyes, take a deep breath, and push the gate open. It screeches, the hinges coated in rust. It's a wonder it works at all.

You remember the lawns and land of the ranch being maintained and manicured, your father taking pride in the ranch. It's hard seeing it so dishevelled. Your first instinct is to move to the barn, but you stop yourself, memories of the day Jesse McCree saved your life flooding back. That was the whole start of this thing. You don't want to go in there and see remnants of whatever Deadlock were stocking inside instead of horses. You head to the house, the same feelings about the barn following you.

Deciding to not go inside, you settle to sit down on the porch, crossing your legs and closing your eyes. You inhale deeply, and realise that when your eyes are closed, it's like nothing changed. The birds still sing the same, the air is still as sweet, the air rushing through the trees surrounding the property continues to have the same gentle tone to it. You've never been to the beach before, but your mother described it as having the same sound as waves hitting the shore.

You don't know how long you stay like that, but it's nice. Peaceful. You never expected to be here again, and yet you've found a single spot within a place that's littered with bad memories.

Two footsteps on the porch next to you. You know exactly who it is. You know the spurs. "Mind if I sit?" He asks. You don't open your eyes, nodded in silence. You expect Jesse to make conversation with you right away, but he doesn't, and for another long, unsubscribed period of time, the two of you sit in silence.

You finally open one eye, peeking at him. He's sitting beside you, legs bent in front of him, arms resting on his knees lazily as he looks ahead. "You been t' the orchid?" You ask.

He gives a slow nod. "Yeah," his voice is tired, a little croaky, even. It's then you remember his mother is buried there. "Gonna... head by the cemetery a lil' later." Even though you're still mad at him after all this time, even though he's the reason this place holds so much pain for you, you can't help but feel something in your chest hurt a little for him. "You been t' the house yet?"

Both your eyes open now, you inhale sharply. The house. "No," you reply.

Jesse nods, a tiny smile at the corners of his mouth. "I been' puttin' it off, too," he says. Rising to his feet with a grunt, he offers his hand our to you. "C'mon," he says, waiting for you to take it. "Join me while I pay my dues, eh?" The smile on his face doesn't fit with the look in his eyes, and all of a sudden Jesse McCree is a sweet teenage boy trying to be the protector, prioritising your feelings about some stupid boy you like over the real, serious problems in his life. The boy calming you down over a cut in your finger even though his mother has just died. You take his hand, and the two of you head for the cemetery.

Jesse McCree's father was buried in a small grave. Simple. Nothing much to it. Jesse had more than enough money at the time to give him a big, solid headstone that memorialised his life, but he chose not to. "Stopped being my pa' half way through," he says, looking at the grave as you watch. "Half-assed everythin' he did. Figured that piss-poor headstone was only fittin'."

Your parents, on the other hand, were buried side by side, their graves decorated, well-designed monuments. Jesse had spared no expense for them when the time came. You kneel down at your father's headstone, resting the flat of your hand on the face of it before tracing your fingertips over the engraving of his name. "Sorry fer' not visitin', Pa," you whisper. "Sure ya' know all about it, though. You do the same for your mother, kissing your fingertips and planting them to her headstone.

Somehow, though, the next and final stop on your tour is the hardest. You stand in the alcove of your old home, memories flooding back like pinpricks on your skin. Jesse hasn't been here since he walked out on you, and coming back to it with him is... you don't know the words.

The furniture is all but gone, some of it stolen, the majority of it sold when you'd needed the money. The bar remains in the living room, as does the dining room table. "I had dreams about it, ya' know," Jesse finally speaks. "When I was in Blackwatch. I'd dream 'bout Christmas lunch, how we usedta' do somethin' with just us 'fore we went to visit ya' Ma and Millie," he recalls. "You were such a good cook. Don't think I ever gave ya' much credit for it."

You smile a little. "'Member how I hadta' get ya' t' hang up the mistletoe 'cause you were tall enough?" You ask. He nods, smiling to himself. "You'd abuse that mistletoe like nothin' else, too. Usedta' think it was ya favourite part of the holidays."

"Sounds like me," he laughs. "Couldn't get enough of ya'."

You feel like you're meant to smile, but you don't, instead looking downwards. "Do ya' think it woulda' worked out?" You ask. "If ya' hadn't gone on that train job? If it'd been... different?"

There's a silence, Jesse's thumbs hooking into his belt-loops as he thinks this over. "Maybe," he finally replies. "We had all the ingredients t' make it work, you n' me."

You want to argue this. You want to bring up what he said to you, see if he might consider actually apologising to you properly, if he might actually address it specifically -- but you don't think you can take that right now. Not here. Not after today has been so heavy for you. "It's gettin' dark," you observe, looking out one of the windows.

* * *

The conversation at camp that night is kept light. You're at the foot of the mountains in which Cochinay is hidden, and despite Ana's attempts to get a conversation flowing, neither you or Jesse seem much interested in contributing. Deciding there's little point in you sitting there, you rise from where you sit by the fire. "I'm gonna go t' bed," you announce. "Today was... somethin'. Think I needta' nap."

Jesse gives a nod. "You and Ana good t' keep watch for a bit?" He asks. "Deer 'round here are out n' about at night. Reckon' I can rustle us up somethin' a little nicer than beans fer breakfast t'morrow." He shoots Ana a glance. "I'm only gonna' be gone bout an hour," he assures her. Hanzo gives a nod, glancing to you as you pass.

Not really caring much for where Jesse is going as he lights a lantern and heads into the forest surrounding you, you crawl into your tent, which is positioned away from the fire and further into the dark. There's privacy here, and as soon as you touch the bed roll you feel the flood of tears you've been holding back all day come spilling from your eyes. The next ten minutes are spent frustrated, angry, sad. The shittiest part of this is that you're dealing with it entirely alone. Jesse had set you up for that, really, a life of doing things alone. You should be used to it.

You hear your name called softly from outside your tent. Hanzo. "I will leave if you wish," he says.

You consider sending him away for a moment, wondering if he needs to see you like this at all. But you realise Jesse will be gone for the next hour, and it's a rare opportunity to break a routine that he's set for you without even knowing it. You open the entrance to the tent, and gesture for Hanzo to come inside.

He sits beside you, instantly bringing his hands to cup your face when he realises that you're crying. He doesn't speak at first, instead guiding you towards him and kissing your brow, eventually holding you against his chest as you release the last of what had been built up over the day. "Do you wish to talk?" He asks.

You shake your head. "No. I mean, yeah," you swiftly correct yourself, "but I don't know where t' start."

"At the beginning, perhaps," he suggests. You shake your head again.

"That's the problem," you explain, "I can't tell ya' much of it yet."

He raises an eyebrow. "And why is that?" He asks.

Wiping your eyes you look away from him. "It'll complicate things," you reply. "I jus'... don't wanna make trouble right now. Not till after. Not till this is over."

His hand travels to the back of your head, stroking your hair, his grip on you tightening. "I understand."

I understand. Two words you need so much yet never seem to hear enough. You tilt your head to look up at him, this... person who you've been lucky enough to run into. One of the deadliest men you've ever met, holding you in his arms and comforting you, not pushing or interrogating you. Hanzo. Patient, kind, understanding Hanzo.

Your eyes meet, and it's not long before you're kissing. Gently at first, the touch and sensation being a soft comfort until eventually it changes, shifts and morphs into something more powerful, your emotions spilling over and kisses deepening.

When Jesse McCree decides to return early and check on you, he opens the tent to find his best friend and his ex-wife passionately kissing each other, her hands half way through untying his clothing, his gripping around her waist.

You pull away from Hanzo immediately, giving a yelp, your eyes wide, your heart racing when the light enters your tent and you see Jesse with an expression you're unable to identify. Jesse is gone as soon as he was there, the only evidence that you didn't just imagine is being a loud string of angry cursing coming from outside. Hanzo looks to you, making sure you're alright, before he scrambles to his feet and follows Jesse.

You follow suit, stumbling over your own feet as you leave the tent, rushing to stand. At the campfire, Ana is standing, startled. He must have gone around the camp instead of going through it, otherwise she would have warned them. Jesse is pacing. Hanzo is standing by the wayside cautiously. "Jesse-"

"What the _fuck!?_ " He shouts, the pacing continuing, his agitation growing. "What the fuck was that?!"

You approach them, your voice frantic, heart racing as the world ends. "Jesse, I can explain!"

"Save it!" He growls. "I know what I fuckin' saw in there."

"Please," Hanzo asks, his tone firm, "calm down, Jesse."

"Calm down?!" He repeats, his voice rising again.

You know that exact tone, acting immediately, rushing to get between them just before Jesse can make a beeline for Hanzo. "Jesse," you repeat, your voice rising a little to match his volume, your hands flat against his chest, trying to stop him. "Please don't do this." You glance back quickly to Hanzo, your eyes wide. You hope he can't see how terrified you are right now, but you notice how tense he is. He's just as ready to go as Jesse is. "Think of ya' mission, 'kay?" You offer, looking back to him.

He rolls his eyes, glancing from you to Hanzo. "Stop fuckin' pretendin' you care 'bout the mission," he says to you. "I get it now." He scoffs, shaking his head, his posture relaxing a little. "Problem' with gettin' revenge this way, darlin', is that I'd haveta' care 'bout ya for it t' work."

"Careful," Hanzo warns, a little growl following. "Your quarrel is not with her."

Jesse gestures to Hanzo, a laugh of disbelief following. "Oh, you think ya' special?" He asks. "Ya' think ya' special t' her, is that it? 'Cause I got some bad new fer ya', buddy. She fucks' guys like you fer' a livin'."

You can hear Hanzo take a step. "And what is your excuse?" He asks.

"'Scuse me?"

"What is your excuse?" He repeats. "I have always known you to be a fool, but this?" He asks. "I am just disappointed in you."

Jesse rolls his eyes, his stance enlarging again, the same stance he takes when he wants to fight. "I'll let ya' know when that matters t' me, Shimada."

"This behaviour," he growls, "is not becoming of you."

"Tell me how you'd react, then?" He asks, voice loud, roaring, "Thought you were my best friend. Though, I guess if ya' brother didn't mean nothin' t' ya, what difference does friendship make, huh?"

Another growl. "Take that back," Hanzo warns. "Before you lose the only person who is willing to persevere through your idiocy." There's a pause. "Perhaps I should have listened to Dr Ziegler when she discovered what you're really like."

This is enough for Jesse, who erupts into another string of threats and insults. You try again to keep him back, finding yourself physically holding him after a few moments. "Outta my way," he warns you, trying to put his hands on you to move you.

"No!" You shout, struggling to get out of his grip. "Jesse, stop!" Hanzo shouts something that gets lost in Jesse's tyraid, and next thing you know you're shoved out of the way, the suddenness of it causing you to hit the ground, giving a short scream from the surprise of it all.

The entire situation snaps in two, Hanzo letting out a furious string of insults to match Jesse's, finally stepping up to him, the two chest to chest as they argue. Ana rushes to you, helping you off the ground, checking to see if you're okay. She's as bewildered as you are.

Jesse throws the first punch, knocking Hanzo back a few steps. The first time you try to move in to separate them, Ana grabs you by the shoulders, holding you back. It quickly becomes apparent that there was no way you would have succeeded as the two begin to brawl with eachother. You notice, though, that Hanzo doesn't hit Jesse back offensively. He only tries to stop him, to disable his blows. He's not entirely successful, and when Jesse has Hanzo beneath him on the ground and brings a fist to his face, it's Ana who steps in.

She pulls on the collar of Jesse's shirt, shouting something in another language you've never heard. You're not even sure that Jesse speaks it, but whatever she does seems to work, Jesse stumbling back from the body of his friend. You immediately rush to Hanzo, crouching down beside him, checking him over. He's hurt. His nose is bleeding, his lip is split, there's a gash on his cheekbone. Yet, when you drop to your knees beside him, fussing over him, he still extends an arm out in front of you, attempting to create some kind of barrier between you and Jesse. "Hanzo," you whisper. "C'mon," you help him to his feet, the archer stumbling somewhat, barely removing his eyes from Jesse until he gets a look at you.

"Are you alright?" he asks, out of breath, his voice low. It's Hanzo who looks over you now.

"I'm fine, it was nothin'," you insist, carefully taking his face in your hands. "Don't do this. Don't," you plead. "Please, ya' ain't gotta'." He presses his brow against yours closing his eyes for a moment.

"What has gotten in to you?!" You can hear Ana scold. "Fighting over an ex-girlfriend? I expect better from _you_ of all people, Jesse." There's a pause.

You look up and realise Jesse is looking you dead in the eye, something in his expression you can't place as he turns his attention to Hanzo. "Ex-girlfriend," he repeats quietly before his voice returns to a regular volume. "You don't know, do ya'?" He asks.

You know exactly what's coming. "Jesse," you warn through gritted teeth, your voice quaking, out of breath yourself. "Don't do this. Please."

"Why? Why hide it anymore?" He asks. He looks to Ana, then to Hanzo, and gestures to you. "This here is my ex-wife!" He announces. "Yep. _Married._ The former Mrs McCree!" He gives a short pause. "Come t' think of it, you're probably _still_ my wife. Never signed any divorce papers!"

"I signed a death certificate, Jesse. You stopped being my husband the day you robbed that train," you reply, your voice starting as a growl but rising to match his. Your heart is racing and you swear that you can feel it in your throat. Then, you see how he's looking at you, like he's won. "No," you shout suddenly, tears welling in your eyes, standing in front of Hanzo, putting yourself between the two as Ana steps aside, her eyes wide. "You want to tell them the whole story, Jesse?" You ask, the frustration that's been building inside you ever since this shitshow began finally spilling over.  
"Why don't you tell them what a _great_ husband you were? Leavin' me home alone. Quittin' an _honest job_ so you could go be a criminal with Deadlock. My daddy's ranch--" you cut yourself off, choking back a sob just thinking about it. "And then, after all that, you don't go and get yourself killed in some stupid robbery -- which was bad enough. No. You go and join some fuckin'---" you wave your arm about at the other two, who are standing and watching in complete silence. "Some fuckin' superhero group, livin' the high life, bein' a hero -- and you don't send me a _word._ You let me believe you were dead, Jesse!"

"I told you," he growls. "I didn't have a choice if I ever wanted to--"

"Did you even _tell_ them?" You ask, your face now drenched with tears, your voice guttural. "Did you tell them you had a wife back home, Jesse?"

He's silent for a moment. "No. I didn't."

You look up to the night sky, feeling more of the hot tears bleeding from your eyes, the salt in them causing your skin to feel dry and almost sting instantly. "I went through the most _awful_ things, Jesse," you finally say, your voice croaky as you look back to him. "I ha nothin'. I had no one 'cause everyone was 'fraid of us. I had to mourn you alone. I had this chunk of who I am inside of me die, Jesse. Because you didn't wanna tell ya' boss that you had a wife at home."

He's shaken by this, but tries one last time. "Everything I did with Deadlock, I did to help you. T' make ya' feel better 'bout th' lack of kids."

"No, Jesse," you plead, closing your eyes for a second. "Don't gimme' that crap. At first it was, sure! But by the time you told me about it, you were doin' it for you." You take a deep breath. This is going to be the hard part. "I wanted a dog, a baby, a table and a nice house with you in it. I kept tellin' you that, but you never listened. _You_ wanted me to live that life. Not me." You look him dead in the eyes. "I fuckin' loved you. That was all I wanted."

"Well I'm sorry!" He retorts, "I'm sorry nothin' I could do for ya' was ever enough! That you could never be satisfied with me!"

You roll your eyes. "Come _on,_ Jesse! Th' second we found out I couldn't have a baby, ya' gave up on even tryin' to be a good husband."

He lets out a short, sharp laugh. "That so?" He asks, voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's funny, 'cause I remember you makin' me feel th' exact same way, so don't you come here with them crocodile tears and try t' be the martyr."

"Bull _shit!_ " You reply. "Jesse, you never had one situation where ya sacrificed somethin' to-"

"Sure, ok. Fine." He throws his hands up in the air, speaking over you. "Well, I hope Shimada wrapped it up, 'cause ain't nothin' wrong with ya. Ya' _perfect_ husband was th' problem. So he lied t' ya." Silence. Complete silence. "There, ya' happy?!"

If Jesse expected you to pitch a fit or shout or scream, you disappoint him, your voice dropping in volume, your hands shaking, your eyes wide. "...Jesse... is that... true?"

It's entirely possible that Jesse realises what he's done, but knowing his temper, he's far too afraid to admit fault, and merely shakes his head, looking at the ground. "You wanted t' know th' worst thing I ever did t' ya?" He asks. "That was it. Blamin' it on you."

The silence is only interrupted by your shaking, uncontrollable breathing. After a few moments, thinking you're done, Ana comes to your side, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Come, dear," she offers softly. "Let's go and--"

"Jesse McCree," you croak, the tone of your voice causing Ana to step right back, causing Jesse to look back at you. "You are a bad, bad man," you growl, your teeth bared. "You ain't just bad. That's... this is evil." Something snaps in you and the anger vanishes. It's an odd feeling, the sadness overwhelming the anger. Hurt and regret following to fill hat the sadness can't, all in a space of a few seconds as your expression collapses and you realise your face is hot with tears that are dripping down from your chin and soaking your shirt. "I can't believe I was ever, _ever_ stupid enough t' love you."

You turn and walk away, and when Hanzo reaches out for you, you step off, hugging your own arms and making a beeline for the tent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iT'S 4.00AM AND I HAVE TO BE UP AT 9AM LMAO.  
> WORTH IT. <3


	16. The Price of Power

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Consensual but not fun sex. Sex work.

"I'm sorry, dear, I really am," says the barman, exhaling and cleaning out the class. "If I had any work I'd give it to ya'. I would. But we're barely makin' enough to keep open." He pauses. "Really, I don't think there's much work at all, ever since Deadlock moved on. Ya' might be better cutting your losses and heading out to New Prosperous."

It's been two years since you dedicated a memorial to Jesse. You couldn't bury him -- there was no body recovered, and the people at Overwatch took his arm for whatever reason, something to do with forensics and evidence. They sent you his ring, though. It's too big for your fingers, and you wear it in a chain around your neck.

In the two years since his death, everything has changed. The train job raised Deadlock's profile, and next thing everyone knew, Deadlock was in an all-out war with the authorities. If there weren't lawmen being slaughtered in town, Deadlock was out fighting other gangs for superiority. The more territory they won, the less they needed Little Justice.

The authorities came knocking when it came to light what Jesse McCree was, what he'd been doing. You were questioned over and over again, word eventually getting out that you knew what he was doing. You went to court. You could pay a fine or go to prison. What the authorities hadn't seized as a profit of crime, you sold to keep out of prison and keep the judge happy. Now all you have in your big empty house is a bed, a bathroom and two or three dresses.

You've survived on bare minimum for as long as you have. You're the widow of a criminal, the man being billed as the man who ruined Little Justice. No one in town trusts you, spare for Millie, who moved on to Odgenville six months back. You aren't the kind of woman that people want delivering their babies. You haven't been able to get any work spare for odd jobs. There was a few months where you got work cleaning at the Little Justice Hotel, and doing laundry, but as the population has declined and people immigrated to New Prosperous, it dried up.

And now you're here, pleading with the barman to give you any kind of work he can think of. But there's nothing. He can't even offer to pay you in food. This is dire.

You thank him, giving him whatever excuse for a smile you can muster, and leave the empty hotel. You stand on the porch, taking in the sight of the town. It's all but empty, most of the buildings boarded up. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You can come up with a solution. You survived losing Jesse, you survived the gossip about your character, you survived saying goodbye to Millie. You can survive this.

"Hey," a voice suddenly says, raspy and worn. You open your eyes. The man hitching a horse to the railing is looking at you. "I know you. You're Deadeye's wife!" He smiles a toothy smile. While someone pointing this out would usually put you on the defensive, he seems to be genuinely friendly. "Thought ya' woulda' moved on from town by now, lady as upstandin' n' fashionable as you."

You pause, looking away. "Probably should have," you admit, just happy to be speaking to someone who isn't glaring at you. "Looks like Imma' haveta' find a way outta' here if I wanna keep eatin'." You shoot him a half-hearted smile and shrug. "Guess it's life, huh?"

He doesn't return the smile, instead crossing his arms. There's a genuine sadness in his eyes. "Terrible thing what happened t' Deadeye," he says, "good man. Even fer' someone runnin' with us, ya' know?" He glances to you. "Name's Mitt, and I'm real sorry 'bout ya' husband. Really am." He exhales shifting his posture, his hands coming to rest on his hip. "Where ya' headed?" He asks.

"Wherever there's work," you say with a shrug. "Got any suggestions?"

"Reckon' New Prosperous is ya' best bet," he says. "Beautiful lady such as ya'self?" he looks you up and down, and you find yourself struggling to read his tone. Is he being friendly, or is he... not. "Reckon' you'll find ya'self some good work in no time -- if ya' don't get snatched up by someone lookin' fer a wife," he jokes. "I'm actually headin' out that way t'night," he says. "Got a whole wagon' o' product to move. Reckon' I'd have enough space fer ya' to join me."

"Really?" You ask, unable to hide your excitement, smiling from ear to ear.

"Sure." Mitt looks you up and down once again. "...I mean, if yer' willin' t' provide me with some..." there's a pause and he looks you in the eye. "Company."

You can feel your expression dropping, not sure if you'd want to play it any other way, really. You step back. "'Scuse me?"

Mitt shrugs. "Times are hard, I reckon. It's a bit of a trip. Gotta' find a way t' make it worth m' while."

Before this, your first instinct would have been to slap him, or insult him, or just walk away entirely. But you don't. You find yourself in a position you never thought you'd be in. You can either accept his offer, travel with him and continue your life in exchange for sex... or you can stay here and hope for something better -- which probably won't happen before you starve. "...And you'll take me there?" You ask, an eyebrow raised, reading his expression very carefully.

He nods. "'Course." Mitt tips his hat and shoots you a smile. "Deadeye saved my neck more than a few times, bless his soul."

Despite the temptation to challenge him on the respect he has for Jesse, given that he's attempting to all but blackmail you into sex, you know that this time, it's better to hold it. "Alright," you relent, your stomach twisting in knots. "When are ya' goin'?"

He gives a shrug. "Reckon' I can hold out here for another few hours. Wanna' get goin 'fore sundown, though." Nodding, he gestures to the horse. "I'll go inside, have a drink and get this fella back on' the wagon. Meet me here when ya' ready."

You reply with a gentle nod, unable to bring yourself to say anything, and begin the walk home to the house you couldn't get anyone to buy. The house Jesse McCree used to live in. By the time the stigma started to drop a bit, Little Justice was desolate.

When you get to your room, you retrieve the suitcase from under the bed, pausing when you set it down on top of your comforters. This is the same suitcase you packed the last time you saw Jesse. Shaking your head, you open it and begin to pack what you can. You don't have time for this. "I can do this," you whisper to yourself. This may not be the most honorable way of doing things, it may not be ethical or in line with anything you've been raised to believe... but something you've learned over time is that there _is_ no honor when it comes down to it. Not when things are like this. Not when you need to survive. If there was one thing Jesse wanted you to do, it was look after yourself. You have to do what you have to do.

You open the cabinet in the bathroom to collect what's left of your midwife supplies when you spot it: the little blue box you carried with you, the one Millie told you was a 'saving grace for a woman with enough children.' She would import them from bigger towns, and although you'd never seen condoms for sale in the local pharmacy, Millie insisted that it would be a matter of time before they sold them in the general store like they were nothing. She was always optimistic. You've never used them yourself, but you know enough about them. Millie had you practice rolling one over a banana so you could demonstrate for the ladies you helped in town when the time came to show them how to lengthen time between pregnancies. They stop pregnancy, first and foremost -- and although that aspect is of little use to you, they also prevent the spread of venereal disease. You open the box, taking two or three and putting the little silver foil packages in the pocket of your dress. The rest go in the suitcase with your things.

When you arrive back, ready to leave, Mitt is nothing short of a gentleman. He helps you pack your suitcase into the back, helps you onto the front of the wagon, and you leave Little Justice behind. Despite the temptation to look back, you don't. It's over now. That place is gone, and whatever memories you have of it are ones that you'll have to keep to the back of your mind until it's safe to open them again.

The ride to New Prosperous takes about four hours by wagon, and you spend the first two talking. Mitt doesn't do too much strenuous work with Deadlock these days. He had a run-in with the law a few years ago and broke his leg pretty badly as a result, so he can't do any of what he calls 'the dirty work.' Still, though, they don't like to waste hands, so Mitt does a fair amount of their product runs. He seems like a reasonable man. Has a son in Tombstone that he doesn't get to see much anymore.

And then, after a while, he stops the carriage when the sun rolls down. You can see the light of New Prosperous in the distance and wonder why he'd stop so close to your destination for a moment. Oh. That. Of course. "Well," he says with a smile, turning to you. "Reckon' this here is a good spot." You look around. He's gone a little way off the path, just enough to give privacy without seeming suspicious. "Shall we?" He jumps down from the front of the wagon, making his way to your side. This is all so... casual to him. How many times has he done this?

After helping you down, he leads you into the back of the wagon, closing the flaps once you're both inside. He clears his throat and steps towards you, but you suddenly step back. "I don't wanna kiss ya'," you blurt. "Not..." you pause, trying to gather yourself. "Not 'cause I ain't agreeable t' ya. It just... don't feel right."

Mitt gives a shrug. "Sure thing," he says dismissively. "Ain't really what I'm after." His hands are on you, smoothing over the curve of your waist, his eyes hungrily inspecting the shape of you. His fingers begin to undo the buttons of your bodice and you take a deep breath. You can do this. It will be fine. There's nothing wrong with this. You're surviving.

He discards your bodice and you exhale as his fingers move to your skirts. Quickly, remembering what you have, you dip your hand into the pocket, removing one of the little silver packages. "Um..." you hold it up, struggling for words.

Mitt smiles. "Well, ain't you prepared?" He asks, taking it from you. "Almost like a professional..." he trails off for a moment. "How 'bout you get undressed and lemme' have a good look at ya'."

You shed your skirts, then your corset, and when he's not satisfied with that, your underwear. He unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans, and presents his erection to you, offering you the condom with one hand. You take a deep breath and take it, opening the package, rolling it onto him.

You spend the next fifteen minutes bent over a crate of whatever stock he's moving for Deadlock while he has his fill of you. While he isn't rough, it isn't comfortable or enjoyable at the least. You'd expected about as much. When he's done he pulls his pants back up, throws the condom out of the back of the wagon and steps outside to let you get dressed again.

The rest of the trip is spent in silence.

* * *

"You another one of those folk from Little Justice?" The barman of the Little Prosperous Saloon asks, looking up from the glass he's cleaning.

Leaning on the bar, you give an exhale. Your back hurts, and you're hoping that you can get some work here for the night so you can at least have a place to sleep until the morning. "How'd ya guess?"

He shakes his head, raising his eyebrows. "'Cause I'm always having to tell your folk that there's not a lot of work goin' round here," he explains. "Sometimes there's work goin' at the mines the next down over, or the lumber mill... but for a lady?" He asks. "'Fraid you might be better off headin' over to Tombstone or Ogdenville."

You feel a panic wash over you, and as much as you want to contain it, it's probably showing. "You can't offer me anythin'?" You ask, eyes wide as he shakes his head. "Even some cleanin'? I don't need much, justa' bed."

Before the barman can respond, another voice chimes in from beside you. "Darling," she all but purrs, her voice smooth as butter as she leans her back against the bar and side-eyes you, "the only work you're going to get here isn't the kind someone such as you would lower yourself to." She smirks, looking back into the crowd in the busy saloon. "I'd suggest you start walking now. I don't want you to bring down the mood on such a busy night."

You take in the way she's dressed, her hair in an elaborate up-do, her lips stained red with impeccable application, heavy, jewel-encrusted baubles hanging from her ears. A working girl. "'Scuse me?" You ask, turning to face her. "I think you're makin' some assumptions."

The working girl finally tilts her head, opening her mouth to speak, but on getting a good look at you, stops. "...I know you," she begins, looking you up and down. "...Aren't you Deadeye's wife?"

It's all you can do to stop yourself from rolling your eyes and groaning. You're getting a little sick of the recognition, honestly, despite the benefits. "Was. 'Til he died."

She purses her lips and crosses her arms. "What on _earth_ are you doing here, then?" She asks. "Don't you have an inheritance to live off, rather than mixing with us rabble?"

"I wish," you mutter to yourself. "'Fraid my late husband wasn't that prepared fer' his departure. Law wasn't too kind when it came to seizin' his assets, either."

She processes this, an eyebrow raised. You can already tell that she's a quick study. "How did you get here, then?" She asks. "No money, nothing to trade... don't tell me you walked all this way." There's a definite hint of sarcasm in her voice. She knows. She just wants to hear you say it.

You glance away, not ready to admit it. "I did what I hadta'."

She smiles a little, nodding, quiet in thought for a moment and looking down at her shoes. "I see," she notes. There's another pause as she looks around. "Your late husband," she begins, bringing her elbow to rest on the bar, "was a regular in here. Never once seemed interested in any of me or my girls' wares, so I assume you kept him satisfied in that regard." She looks to the barman and holds two fingers up, gesturing for two of something. "He paid the ladies here little mind, actually... so imagine my surprise when he stormed up into those rooms the second one of my girls started screaming for help." Two glasses of sherry appear before her and she nods to the barman. "Before I can even get out of my seat, he's thrown the punter down the stairs. Your husband beat that man so badly that I'd be surprised if he's able to write his own name anymore, let alone try and attack one of my girls." There's a gentle smile as she pushes a glass towards you. "He asked nothing in return -- and believe me," she smirks suddenly, "he was offered an array of rewards."

She lifts her glass, waiting for you to follow suit before you both take a sip. "Glad he was of help t' ya," you say quietly.

"You're quite young for a widow," she observes, "clean, well put together... and if you could get a handle on Jesse McCree, I'm sure you have enough wit to get any of these reprobates into bed for a sizeable fee." She pauses again to take another sip. "I'll set you up with a room here for a mere 40% of your profits." There's a pause. "Believe me: you'll be making so much you'll hardly notice."

You sip on your drink, frowning as you think this over. You've heard stories about how much these women make. It's... sizeable. Enough for you to try and get to Ogdenville. "...Am I allowed to turn down--"

"Of course," she dismisses. "Although I believe you'll find that when money's involved, you'll be marginally less... picky."

"And... protection?"

At this, the woman looks you dead in the eye. "Always," she says, her tone firm, almost frightening. "It's provided as part of the 40% you'll be giving me. I keep a clean house, and I don't like losing my girls to the clap or pregnancy or whatever else they might catch." She exhales. "It's inefficient, to say the very least."

You down the rest of the sherry, slamming it on the bar and giving a nod. You basically did it to get to New Prosperous, and it wasn't exactly the worst thing you've been through. In fact, you expected to feel more guilty about it than you do. At least this way you're making money and you aren't alone in the middle of nowhere. "Alright," you announce to her. "When can I start?"

She smiles, glancing down to your suitcase, which sits at your feet. "Grab that old thing and follow me." She pushes herself off the bar and heads for the stairs, an authority in her walk, a confidence that unmistakably lets everyone know that _she's_ in charge of the place. "You can call me Iris," she adds, turning back to you to make sure you're following. "I'm sure I have something we can put you in until you're making enough to assemble a wardrobe of your own." When you get to the top of the stairs, she stops suddenly, turning to you, a finger raised. "You're going to need a name."

"...Oh," you blink. "I... hadn't thought of that."

Iris takes a moment, stepping back, giving you another once over. "Shame we already have a Kitty... hmm..." after a few moments, she gives a decisive nod. "You look like a Clementine. That'll do for now. I'm sure you'll come up with something better later."

Clementine sticks, and you never use a different name in all the years you work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is a Hanzo-feels one. I promise. Going to try and work in his perspective.  
> Also his new haircut doe


	17. Blindman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: An old fashioned Ana Amari-Style dressing down

The next morning is painful as you all eat together, no one daring to speak a word -- spare for Ana, who seems determined to at least attempt some normalcy. Last night you slept alone for a few hours, your eyes burning, your throat dry. But when all was silent and Ana took over watch from Jesse, you crept out of your tent and into Hanzo's. At the very least, this shit of a situation meant that you could share a tent now, that there was no sneaking around required.

As you take the final sip of the tea that Ana brewed for you, you find yourself glancing at Hanzo again. His face looks even worse, his cheek bruised, his lip a little swollen, bruises on his arm. You note the specks of dried blood in his beard, shifting uncomfortably. This is your fault. "Reckon' we got time t' bathe real quick, Ana?" You ask, looking directly at the sniper, who seems a little surprised that you're asking her. You can't even tolerate looking at Jesse right now, and the fact he doesn't speak up or attempt to answer makes you sure that he knows it. "There's a little river a short walk from 'ere." You nod to Hanzo as you speak. "I'd like t' see t' his face, if ya' wouldn't mind."

Ana glances between the two of you. She's not an idiot, and you're well aware she'll buy your polite excuse, even though she'd checked the cuts to his face this morning. "I was just going to suggest that," she says with a decisive nod. "They'll need to be cleaned, and I'd appreciate the help." There's a pause and Ana glances aside to where Jesse sits, but only for a split second before she gazes into her tea. "There are mission details that Jesse and I need to discuss, so this would be a good opportunity."

Resisting the urge to flicker your eyes to the cowboy sitting to her side, you give her a gracious nod and rise, gesturing for Hanzo to join you. You grab your towels from your packs and head to the river, walking in relative silence, neither of you really knowing where to start.

You arrive by the riverbank and tilt your head to the water, setting down the things you'll need. "Go on," you instruct softly. "I'll join ya' in a second." As you unpack a little bag you'd brought, you can hear him disrobing behind you, and before too long he's in the water. You follow soon after, bringing a square of cloth with you.

It's a warm morning, and even though this patch of the river has a fair amount of shade from the trees, the water is still warm enough from it's run through the open parts of the stream. You dip the cloth in, wetting it before approaching Hanzo. "I'm sorry," you exhale, lifting the cloth to his face and beginning to gently dab away at his cheek. "This is all my fault."

"No," Hanzo responds as you dip the cloth back into the water, rinsing it. "A am as responsible as you. When he pushed you, I..." he trails off as you bring the cloth back to his jaw.

"Yeah, but if I'd told ya' bout it..." you shake your head at yourself. "I'm such an idiot. Lyin' to ya'. You ain't deservin' of that from me." You take a clean corner of the cloth and dab at the split on his cheek. "Not when ya' so..." There's a moment spent trying to think of a word to describe how Hanzo is with you. "...Good. You're real good t' me. Not jus' superficially, either," you explain. "I can trust ya'."

Hanzo watches you quietly as you carefully clean the dried blood from his face. Eventually, his hand rises, coming to gently hold the wrist of the hand holding the cloth, and slowly lowering it. His eyes lock with yours. "I have a son," he says, his voice soft. You blink. For some reason, you find this a little surprising, even though you know entirely well that it would be entirely normal for a man his age to have a child. "He and his mother live in Tokyo. He is eleven." Another pause. "I visit him at Christmas... other than that, though, I have not been the father I would like to be."

You carefully watch his face. He's not looking you in the eye anymore. He's looking into the water, his jaw tense, his eyes soft with... sadness? Shame? It's a mix of things. "I'm so sorry," is all you can think to offer him short of taking him into your arms. You really had no idea. You wouldn't have even thought about it.

"Do not be," he says, glancing back to you, a weak smile on his face, although his eyes don't reflect the same emotion. "My clan was marred with violence at the time, and despite knowing I would soon have a son, I refused to leave when his mother asked me to go with her. I chose my pride instead." He takes a breath, solid, grounding. "I think, perhaps, it was for the best. Joji is a kind boy. He has such empathy, and such a creative mind. He reminds me of my brother more than myself..." he trails off for a moment, a more genuine smile showing, his eyes flaring with a hint of something as he thinks of his son. "If he and his mother had stayed, he would have been next in line as head of the Shimada family after myself. Knowing him as I do now? I am glad he was not subjected to the life of a little lord."

"Joji, huh?" You repeat, a gentle smile of your own matching his. Seeing the way he changes when he talks about him awakens something in you, something warm and pleasant. It's a little addictive, seeing this side of him. "He an archer, too?" You phrase this as a gentle joke, but you secretly hope he'll keep talking about him.

Hanzo chuckles, shaking his head. "No," he replies. "Joji prefers to play baseball and draw." Another pause, his eyes meeting yours again. "You and Jesse are the only ones who know this other than my brother," he explains. "I have kept Joji a secret because, as you said," he pauses, leaning in and kissing your brow, "it is complicated." He reaches up, fingertips sliding around the curve of your ear as he pushes your hair behind it. "We all have secrets that we keep to protect those we care about. Yours is no different. There is no shame in it."

You give a sigh of content, but then the last part of what he says sinks in and you look up at him, frowning. "After what Jesse did t' me?" You ask. "You think I--"

"I think you care for him, yes," Hanzo interrupts, carefully speaking, caution in the way he says his words. "Not in the way you may have once, but I believe you still care for him as a part of your life." He smiles at the end of this, despite the wideness of your eyes. "You are not cold enough to entirely disregard him, even with everything he has done."

Instinctively, you prepare to argue, getting ready to recall all the horrible things that Jesse has done to you. But you stop. _Even with everything he has done._ Hanzo knows. He gets it. There are minute details you haven't told him, but last night's events were enough for him to understand. "Y' really think I kept it quiet t' protect his feelin's?" You ask.

"And your own, yes. But you are a kind person." There's a quick pause. "And I do not think I have to tell you that he will eventually apologise."

"Ain't gonna' do a lotta' good." You cross your arms.

Hanzo doesn't push it any further, the two of you moving onto other topics as you bathe. Hanzo tells you the story of his brother, of the two dragons and how he came to Overwatch to seek his own forgiveness. You tell him about your parents, your childhood and how you came to spend a period of your youth as the most talked about socialite in all of Little Justice. There's a bitter-sweetness to it, the way the two of you re-open these old wounds so casually, as though you've both become so used to the negative emotions they stir in you that they barely even register. Is this resilience? Or is it something else, something reserved for the two of you? You delve into painful pasts together, holding eachother up, soothing eachothers left-over hurt.

It crosses your mind that something about this feels a little like love, but you very quickly push that thought away. You've only just met -- and if love even _is_ real and not just some kind of chemical reaction the brain has, you believe that it takes a lot longer than this, if it's even something you're meant to have.

* * *

"You spoke t' 76 and Winston _without_ me?" McCree asks Ana, his arms crossed, mouth open in disbelieve as she casually nods. "What'd you say?" He asks. "Gonna assume ya' told 'em 'bout the fight."

"Of course," she responds, her tone as though this were only to be expected -- which, honestly, it is. "Jesse, you can't go getting into fist-fights with other field agents, especially those under your command." There's a pause as she raises her eyebrow. " _Especially_ when we have a person outside of Overwatch travelling with us."

Jesse gives a huff and shakes his head, visually frustrated. "Okay, then," he dismisses. "And whata'bout Shimada?" He asks. "Ya' tell 'em about that?"

Ana nods again in the affirmative. "It had no bearing on what they had to say."

"What?!" His voice ups in pitch, shock as he throws his hands in the air. "Are ya' kiddin' me?" He leans down, elbows on his knees, eyebrows raised. "So you're tellin' me that Shimada' is allowed t' slip it t' my ex-wife, but I ain't allowedta' be mad about it?"

"No, you are not," Ana flatly responds.

He scoffs. "And why the hell not?"

"Because she is an adult who is allowed to make her own decisions and she has not been married to you for a decade," Ana replied, her tone pointed. "You do not have a claim on her because you were together _before_ the _Omnic-Crisis_."

His jaw tenses once again and Jesse shifts in his seat, his discomfort apparent, shrinking back a little at Ana's tone. "...What'd they say, then?" He asks. "'Sure 76 had somethin' t' say 'bout it. Ain't like he ever stepped a toe outta' line." His voice is dripping with sarcasm, but it's all he can do to stop himself getting on the comm-link himself.

She waits a moment, crossing one leg over the other. "He wanted to pass command of the mission to me," she answers, not a drop of gentility in her voice. If Jesse had wanted her to sugar-coat it, he blew it about two minutes back.

" _What?!_ " He all but whines. "No one on the team knows this parta' the country better than--"

Ana raises her finger, gesturing for him to stop talking -- which Jesse complies with immediately. "If you would let me finish," she warns, waiting to see if Jesse was done or not. When she's sure he is, she continues. "76 was concerned that your personal stake in the mission would endanger it." There's a pause as she catches his gaze, something in her tone changing. "You _did_ neglect to tell anyone _how_ you knew her," she explains. Ana's tone returns to the firm one from before. "But Winston and I assured him that you could set it aside and behave like an experienced member of Overwatch instead of a teenage boy." There's a pause as she reads his expression. "Winston has also informed me that she is to come with us to the Watchpoint when the mission is completed for a full medical. No exceptions."

"She won't go," he argues. "I'm tellin' ya, she's scared enough of going t' the Route 66 truckstop, let alone gettin' on a dropship." He leans back into his seat. "Keeps her world small."

"And why do you think that is?" Ana asks, a hint of outrage in her expression.

"What's that spose'ta mean?"

"It means," she begins, straightening her posture. Jesse knows that stance. It's the one she takes when someone is about to get a Captain Amari-style dressing down. "That you have scarred that girl so badly that she is afraid to step outside of her own back yard," she snaps. "I will not pretend to know the details, but I know you, Jesse, and I know how you were when you arrived at Overwatch. You were arrogant, proud and selfish, even though you were lucky to be alive and out of prison. And if that is the kind of man you were when you two were married? It is no surprise to me that she has gone so long unwilling to trust anyone." Ana shakes her head, her accent becoming thicker as her tone becomes more heated, bottled up thoughts finally being released. "And to physically attack Hanzo?" She asks. "That man has taken more bullets for you than I can count. He would do anything for you. I cannot believe you would turn on him like that. You should absolutely be ashamed of yourself, Jesse. These are people we are talking about. Not things that used to belong to you. You are a much, much better person than this." She clicks her tongue, shaking her head and murmuring something in Arabic as she stands, beginning to walk away from camp. "Do not fall back into your old faults because you are afraid of accepting them. You are too old for that shit."

Jesse watches for a moment, his entire body tense, breathing deeply. He doesn't want to say anything right now. He honestly just wants to sit there in silence. But his curiosity wins out. "Where ya' goin'?" He asks.

"To get the others," she calls back. "We will need to move, soon, and I want you to sit here and think about what you've done." Coming from anyone else, these words wouldn't be anything. They might even be funny. But from Ana? They are some of the harshest words in the English vocabulary.

Jesse rests back into his seat, takes a deep breath, and finds himself doing exactly as Ana ordered -- no matter how hard he tries to defy her.

* * *

A day later and half way through your ride up the mountain, you stop to take a break. You still refuse to so much as look at Jesse, and he keeps to himself. Ana, however, gestures to you. "Would you come with me?" She asks. "I spoke with command today," she explains, "and there are things we need to talk about."

You follow her without hesitation, the sniper leading you about five minutes away to where a tree has clearly fallen over, the log resting on the ground. "Perfect," she announces, taking a seat on the log, gesturing for you to follow. Once you're both settled, she smiles, her expression as comforting as always. "I spoke to command about your situation," she begins, "and I figured you'd prefer to speak to me rather than Jesse."

You glance away as you nod. You're in trouble, surely. This is her telling you that they're going to send you back to where they found you. Or to Ogdenville or something. You've always suspected this will happen, even though Hanzo's made it clear he wants to make this happen... whatever 'this' is that you have with him. "That's mighty kind of ya'."

Ana reaches out and pats you on the knee. "You aren't in trouble," she assures you, as though she can read your thoughts. "When the mission is completed, our commanders are quite insistent that you come back to the Watchpoint with us to run a medical on you. It is the least we can do after the assistance you've given us."

You raise an eyebrow, chuckling a little. "Ya' sure?" You ask. "Sounds more like ya' boss wants'ta clear 'imself of any liability, t' be honest."

She laughs at this herself, nodding, giving a defeated shrug. "I thought you might be too smart for Winston's way of phrasing things. He means well." Ana watches you carefully, her tone softening a little as she continues. "I am led to believe that you... may not wish to leave."

"Well, I..." You know exactly what you were going to say, but something holds you back. You want to tell her that you'd rather stay here, that you don't want to go to the big wide world that breaks people and twists them into something new and frightening, the world beyond yours full of war and violent Omnics and other horrors that you haven't even imagined... but something's changed. It doesn't seem so bad anymore, and you have no idea why. "I uh... I actually can't say I'm sure how I feel 'bout it," you admit, frowning.

Ana studies your face for a moment, before giving a decisive nod. "I suspected as much." There's something coy about her manner, as though she knows something you don't. "May I let you in on a secret?" She asks. "We can certainly source you a job with Overwatch if you would like."

Blinking, you take a moment to process this. "S-sorry, what?"

"You have midwife training, no?" She asks. "Our head physician is always short on assistance. And Winston is, at the heart of things, a kind soul," she explains. "I am sure he would come up with something, especially if it means Hanzo--"

"Woah," you sputter. "I... uh... sorry, I ain't meanin' t' be rude," you begin with a nervous laugh, "but it ain't like that."

Ana's face takes that expression again -- the one that makes you think she knows more than she lets on -- and she reaches into her coat, retrieving the same disc from before, the one containing the photos. "May I show you something?" She asks. You give a nod and she switches it on, flicking through the photos with purpose before settling on one -- the large man and statuesque woman. "This man?" She asks, pointing to him. "Reinhardt." Ana smiles fondly. "He and I have been friends since the day we met. When I had my daughter, her father wanted me to leave Overwatch, leave the military, settle in with him."

"I'm gonna' assume ya' didn't even consider that," you laugh.

"Not for a second," she confirms with a grin. "He was not happy with this, and even though we had a child, we did not last together. I really thought it would, too." She shrugs, continuing her story. "My daughter spent a lot of her life on the Watchpoint with us, usually in the Summers she would come to visit. And her father was not there, but Reinhardt? He was. The first time I saw him treating her as though she was his own was when I fell in love with him." You glance between her and the picture. You wouldn't have picked it, but then again, you've never met this man. "I will not pretend loving someone who lives our lifestyle is easy, and I assume that for you it may be even harder because you're not fighting beside them... but it can work, and I can guarantee it's worth it."

You purse your lips. It's a nice story, and the way Ana tells it is beautiful. She makes it enticing, even. But... "Why are you telling me this?" You ask.

She shrugs, turning off the disc and placing it back into her pocket with a smile. "You do not get to my age without learning to see the signs," she says. "I think you two are good for eachother... don't tell Hanzo that, though," she adds. "He would be embarrassed."

You can't help but laugh. You know she's right, even though you haven't known Hanzo for as long as her at all. "Your daughter is lucky," you say, standing with her. "This is th' one thing I miss 'bout my ma', I think. Not havin' her here to guide me when I'm confused." You pause. "Ya' know, it's funny," you say as you begin to walk at a slow pace with her. "On my weddin' day, my ma' actually warned me that Jesse would hurt me a lot."

"Did she?" Ana asks.

"Yeah. Reckoned he'd always put me first, though," you dismiss. "Shame she wasn't right about that part."

Ana places her hand on your upper back, giving it a pat. "I think," she muses, "if you will allow me to act as a mother to you right now, that she is still correct."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the length of this one but it's 3am on Christmas morning and I just really wanted to get that Hanzo bit out. The next chapter isn't going to be a flashback because I HAVE MORE HANZO STUFF. Plus Wicker.  
> Anyway, happy holidays everyone!


	18. God Forgives... I Don't!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Violence.

"Think she'll come with us?"

Hanzo looks up from his bow, which he has been re-stringing by the light of the camp fire. It's the final chance for rest they'll have before reaching Cochinay, and Hanzo and McCree are on watch while the others sleep. It's the first thing Jesse has said to Hanzo since the fight, and Jesse finds himself in Hanzo's gaze instead of receiving a response.

"I mean, back t' the Watchpoint," he explains. "Winston says we gotta' bring her back for a medical."

His expression unchanging, Hanzo looks back to his bow, his tone flat as he speaks. "So she has told me." He pushes his thumb against the bowstring, testing it for a moment. "Ask her. I cannot speak for her."

Jesse nods to himself, totally aware that this is the kind of reception he deserves. "Right." He leans back into his seat, glancing to the tents off to the side as he runs a couple more attempts at small talk through his mind. They all seem wrong, disingenuous, like he's trying to butter him up and weasel his way out of it. Jesse knows he has to bite the bullet and cut to the chase, and he feels like he entirely deserves whatever Hanzo might have to say to him without the sweet-talking. "Wanna talk t' ya' 'bout the other night." Hanzo doesn't bother looking up from his bow. Oh boy. "Wanted t' apologise t' ya. Guess I wasn't as ready t' let go as I thought and..." Still no response. Jesse stops himself. No. That isn't right, either. "...Actually," he exhales, "there ain't no excuse. I was wrong. Yer' my friend, Hanzo, and I was bein' a... I was bein' an asshole."

Still not looking at Jesse, Hanzo gives a final flick of the bowstring before giving a satisfied nod at his work. He gently sets the bow down, resting it across his lap, and finally looks up to address McCree. "I, too, owe you an apology," he relents, Jesse's shoulders dropping as he speaks. "I should not have acted as I did. What I said about Dr Ziegler was... uncalled for. I am sorry."

"Eh," Jesse shrugs, dismissing this. "After what I said 'bout Genji? I deserved a lot worse than that." He shoots his friend a hopeful glance, trying not to focus too much on what he's done to his face. "We're ok?" He asks.

Hanzo shrugs, nodding. "It is not the first time we have come to blows," he muses. "I doubt it will be the last." The archer pauses, glancing away for a moment, considering his own honesty. "You should know that our relationship will continue," he says. "I do not know how long she will join us at the Watchpoint, but..." he smiles to himself a little, the image of her wandering the Watchpoint and meeting the rest of Overwatch running through his mind.

"But it's _somethin'_." McCree finishes the sentence for him, giving a knowing nod when Hanzo glances at him in surprise. "Figured as much." He shrugs, trying to play it off, but Jesse knows fully well that Hanzo can see through it.

"I have..." Hanzo takes a deep breath, his discomfort visible. "I have betrayed you somewhat," he admits. "I do not apologise for my feelings for her, but I will for hiding it from you."

Jesse waves his hand dismissively. " _Phhhft,_ " he smiles and rolls his eyes. "Ain't like ya' knew we was ever married. I'm just as guilty of that part. Shoulda' told ya'll 'bout how we knew eachother."

"But I knew you had history," Hanzo points out. "Enough to cause tension between you two. I know better. I am sorry."

Jesse smiles, watching his friend carefully. He really does, even after Jesse's behaviour, feel bad -- the idiot. "C'mon, Shimada," he chuckles. "I ain't one t' apologise often. I'd be enjoyin' it if I was you."

At this, Hanzo rolls his eyes, laughing to himself and shaking his head. "So humble." There's a lull in conversation following this, the sound of the crickets filling the quiet as the laughter fades and shifts into thought for the two. "When will you apologise to her?" He asks.

"T'morrow." Jesse's reply is quick, a certain fact, something he planned before this conversation even began. "'Fore we get t' Cochinay." He doesn't have to explain why -- they both realise how dangerous Cochinay will be. For both Jesse and their guide, it's an unknown. Jesse has been there in the past, sure, but it was when he was still with Deadlock. If the little town is still a Deadlock stronghold, he's going to be walking into a hostile territory where Wicker sits on the throne. "You'll look after her, right?"

The question is sudden, and Hanzo's expression betrays him. Still, he attempts to gather his composure, his tone stern. "Of course."

"I mean if somethin' happens." Jesse pauses for a moment. "Although, 'spose it's a given now, huh?"

"Nothing will happen," Hanzo assures him. "If anything, having her around will be an advantage. I imagine your performance will be drastically improved in order to be the hero in her presence." He smirks, Jesse laughing and shaking his head. Even with a bruised face that tells the story of a break in their friendship, Hanzo finds ways to pick at Jesse as though nothing has gone wrong. Their relationship is resilient, to say the least. It has to be. Jesse is a person who requires a great deal of patience, and Hanzo is a man who has an abundance of patience to a fault.

Rolling his eyes, Jesse's entire posture relaxes, calming, realising that things between him and Hanzo will survive -- no matter how poorly he's behaved. "Good t' know ya' forgive me."

"You have been an asshole," Hanzo points out, the way he says _asshole_  showing that it's still a little foreign to him, another word that he's picked up from McCree. "I believe I am within my rights to make fun of you for a while."

"'Spose this is tame compared t' what I'm gonna' get from ya' girlfriend." Jesse pauses suddenly, both of them tensing a little. _Girlfriend._  That's... not how Jesse had thought of it, really. Nor has Hanzo. It's been so illicit to Hanzo until now, something he's had to try to push to the back of his mind until the opportunity has arisen to steal a moment with her. Yet, now it's out there and in the open, something they all have to acknowledge.

Jesse watches his friend carefully, hoping he hasn't caused offence or that he's triggered off a sudden reaction. He hasn't even asked Hanzo what the actual arrangement is between them. Knowing her, it's probably just a friends-with-benefits thing. Or, well, that's what McCree would have thought before Hanzo took a beating for her. Hanzo would take a beating for anyone he's close to, sure... but there's something about the risk they've gone to.

Eventually, though, Hanzo smiles a little, reaching a conclusion in himself. It's been a long time since he's actually connected with someone romantically, if you could even call his previous relationships 'romantic.' Most of them had been something he'd entertained out of need, for the purpose of appearances or duty. Occasionally he'd entertained a tryst, a short affair to cure his loneliness and lift the burdens of being the head of his clan... but he'd never allowed himself to really connect or open up.

Even Joji's mother found herself closed off emotionally when Hanzo realised that she was an unsuitable candidate for marriage. She was a career woman he'd met when Genji had taken him drinking. Marrying her was out of the question in his mind, as was leaving with her, even if she was having his child. The child wouldn't be the first bastard in the Shimada line, and Hanzo assumed he wouldn't be the last. It wasn't until he met Joji for the first time on the insistence of his brother that Hanzo realised what a mistake he'd made by driving them out of Hanamura and his life. How cold he'd been. Yet, that didn't change until years later...

"I suppose she is," Hanzo admits, shrugging a little, the smile remaining. He's contented, a smile that McCree only really sees every now and then. "And you do not mind?"

McCree absolutely does mind. Seeing the woman he grew up with, fell in love with and wanted to spend his life with move on is one thing, but to see her move on with his best friend... he wants to feel betrayed, but he can't let Hanzo feel that way, because Jesse isn't. It's more regret than betrayal, really. With every day spent with her, he regrets not being better to her. He regrets being selfish, wanting everything from her without giving anything in return. He didn't even commit to her. The first chance he got, he switched on to Angie, using the fact that he _did_  commit to his wife when he was still 'alive' to her as an excuse. He's good at that -- making excuses.

"Nah," he answers, returning his friend's smile, thankful that he's a good liar, even if he's used such talents for evil in the past. "All things considered, you two'll look after eachother. 'Sides," he scratches at his beard. "Reckon' it's 'bout time I moved on good an' proper, anyway."

For a moment, Jesse is worried he'll have to explain this to Hanzo, but the archer nods as though whatever Jesse has communicated in subtext is plain as table. "I think that the both of you will benefit from some closure." He pauses for a moment. "Please, be kind to her."

That request alone tells Jesse all he needs to know about his best friend and his ex-wife.

* * *

You're only thirty minutes away from Cochinay when Jesse stops the party for another rest break. Ana questions it until he asks to speak to you, something about that satisfying her. Hanzo doesn't get defensive either. As he leads you away to a quieter spot, you can play it out in your head in advance: Jesse will attempt to apologise, probably because his boss is making him or because he wants to make up with Hanzo. Then he'll make some more excuses, you'll call him out on it, and nothing will be solved because he'll get defensive and work himself into a denial and find a way to blame you for everything.

"Let's get it over with," you exhale when you come to a stop, crossing your arms and feeling your shoulders tense as he faces you.

"Whatta' ya' mean?" He asks.

You rolls your eyes, already losing your patience. "Your half-assed apology," you reply. "Let's get it over with so we can get movin'. Lemme' guess? It's my fault fer lyin'? I shouldnta' slept with ya' friend? What's the excuse?" You raise your eyebrow expectantly as he hooks his thumbs into his belt loops, his weight shifting from one leg to another.

"There ain't one," he announces. "I messed up. I messed up real bad -- and I'm sorry."

Hesitating, you study him for a moment, looking for any sign of insincerity. There isn't one. "...You apologised to Hanzo?" You ask, unsure if you should accept it yet, wary of whatever he might pull out to justify his actions.

"Yeah. But this ain't just 'bout th' other night." He pauses, looking down, watching his boots and avoiding eye contact with you. "I mean... in general. I ain't been good t' ya. At all. I did some..." he clears his throat, scratching at his jaw. "I did some real' bad shit' t' ya'. Downright rotten'. And I never took responsibility fer' any of it."

"Jesse..." you have no idea what to say right now, because... if he's trying to play you right now, it's working. He seems entirely sincere, and as much as you want to believe this, you've never seen him actually apologise like this before.

Jesse looks up, finally, his eyes meeting yours and all but freezing you in place. In this moment you can see something you never thought you'd see again, something you haven't seen since you were both so young, before Deadlock rolled along and tainted the little paradise you'd made for yourselves. "I was so hellbent on provin' something t' myself," he says, "and I tried t' frame it as somethin' I was doin' for you 'cause..." he exhales. "'Spose I was 'fraid of failin'. Reckon' makin' it 'bout you gave me someone t' blame insteada' myself if things went wrong." He chuckles a little, the sound surprising you. "Funny, ain't it? I was tryin' so hard t' prove t' myself that I was good... or at least better than m' pa', that I ended up bein' the worst person I coulda' been."

You know how you should respond to this. As shocked as you are, you should just thank him for his apology and sincerity and try and move on. He doesn't deserve more than that after everything he's put you through. But something in you twinges and takes you back to the boy that tasted like the pie you baked him when you kissed him properly for the first time. "You... Jesse, I don't think ya' really a bad person," you say, your voice quiet. "Sure, you're an asshole, ya' greedy," there's a laugh in your voice as you continue, "ya' all but ruined my life... but I don't think ya' a bad person. Know I said it t' ya', but deep down? I think there's good in there."

"Don't know 'bout that."

"I can see it in ya' right now."

He shakes his head, exhaling. "Thanks, but I ain't done yet. I feel like I gotta apologise for somethin' specific..." he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes momentarily, like he's working his way up to something. "I'm sorry for lyin' 'bout us not bein' able t' have kids. I was 'fraid ya'd think lessa' me, thought ya' might even wish ya' hadn't married me. I mean, guess ya' did, in the end, fer a different reason. But... outta' all the stuff I did t' ya? I feel like that's the worst."

You purse your lips, processing this, taking it in. "Objectively?" You ask. "I think th' not tellin' me ya' were alive til' Overwatch broke down was worse... but yeah, that definitely hurt th' most." You glance away for a second, gathering your thoughts. "Why, though?" You ask him. "Why'd ya' act like that when ya' found out th' other night?"

"Look," he begins, exhaling whatever he has in his lungs. "I ain't got no right t', but..." he shrugs his shoulders in defeat. "I'm still kinda' in love with ya'." There's silence for a moment as this settles and you swear that your heart is sitting in your throat all of a sudden. "When I decided t' find ya' for this mission I thought I'd moved on, that it was over for me. Knew it'd be awkward, but I figured ya' prolly' hated me so much and would be so disagreeable that I wouldn't feel nothin'." He laughs to himself again. "Forgot what ya' like, I guess, cause I was wrong. I mean, ain't like I was pinin' or nothin'. Wasn't losin' any sleep over it. Reckon' I thought it'd just happen, like we never went our separate ways in th' first place."

"So... back in Ogdenville, when you..." you don't have to finish. Jesse nods. He knows what you're referring to. _"I almost thought this wasn't gonna happen. Had me worried, Darlin'."_

"Yeah," he looks a little embarrassed, actually. "Thought my ship had finally come in."

You frown. "You know that don't make any of this right, yeah?" You ask. "Like, it ain't an excuse."

Jesse shakes his head quickly. "No, it ain't, not at all. But ya' asked why, and that's it. ...Honestly? When I saw you two in that tent? My first thought was 'my best friend's sleepin' with my wife.' Forgot ya' weren't anymore." There's another pause. "Look, I don't expect ya' t' forgive me, or even like me again, but I don't know what's gonna happen once we get t' Cochinay. This whole 'redemption' kick I been on since I joined Overwatch?" He asks. "I think, now, I can see that I was jus' tryna' make myself feel better for how I treated ya'. And I'm gonna go right out there and say it -- I don't know if I'm ever gonna stop lovin' ya, even just a little," he's speaking faster now, as though he's rambling, only he's coherent. "So I'mma be happy fer' you and Shimada, 'cause he makes ya' happy, and you make him happy, the grumpy little bastard." He exhales and drops his shoulders. "He'll treat ya' right. I know that fer' sure. Better than I ever could." He smiles and even though it should be a relief, you swear you feel a twinge of sadness to see it. "You deserve someone like him."

For a while, you genuinely don't know what to say, because you're so busy trying to keep your emotions and heart above water that you can't sort out your thoughts. You want to cry. The things Jesse has just said are things you have waited over a decade to hear, and you just want to cover your face with your hands and break down into sobs of relief.

But you don't. You don't cry. You don't fall victim to your emotions the same way you would have when you were young, when you were still a McCree and Jesse gave you the world as a substitute for his goodness. You stay composed. You aren't that girl anymore. You haven't been for years. Jesse has changed -- so have you.

"Thankyou," you finally say, a smile creeping into the corners of your mouth. "Don't think I uh... ever expected t' hear you say any of them things."

"Don't think I ever expected t' say 'em."

You close your eyes and give a single nod before opening them again, your words lined up. "Jesse, we been at this for so long now. Some of this is stuff I can't forgive so soon. It's a lotta' healin' t' do, but this? This is the first step." You step forward, reaching out to place your hand on his shoulder, giving a gentle squeeze. "I can't forgive ya' right away. That's gonna take time. But I can accept ya' apology."

He reaches up, his hand meeting yours on his shoulder, enveloping it and giving a soft squeeze of its own. "Reckon' that's more than I deserve."

* * *

  
"Dropship is nearby," Ana says, turning off her comms device as you close in on the Cochinay saloon. The mountain town is... bizarre, in a way. It's positively buzzing with life and business, the same way Little Justice was once. You suppose that business booms wherever Deadlock decides to set up shop. "About twenty minutes. They're going to set down just outside of the town limits. It will be good to have backup."

Jesse nods in acknowledgement. "Right," he says. "Second it touches the ground, I wanna know about it so we can get this one on it." He tilts his head to you.

"What?" You ask. "I came all this way and you ain't gonna' let me see it out?"

He scoffs, opening the swing-doors to the saloon, glancing back to you as you all pass through them. "Seem t' remember ya' wining 'bout this bein' a suicide mission."

"I think," Hanzo interjects, "that we can agree circumstances have changed." You smile, a hint of smugness to it, but he soon looks to you. "But he is right. You are getting on the dropship when it arrives."

You roll your eyes, the group coming to stop when Jesse gets to the bar. He begins a conversation with the barkeep as you take in your surroundings. The bar is full, the patrons a mix of Deadlock, working girls and regular townsfolk. It all seems so familiar to you, and even makes you feel a little nostalgic for the days you found yourself in a place like this without working the floor. No one seems to pay you much mind, which is odd. Usually saloons like this are a little more... suspicious of newcomers. But you suppose this is a Deadlock stronghold. They probably have a lot of strange folk coming through on business.

Jesse turns to your group, tilting his head to the side where a hallway awaits you. "Barkeep ain't seen Wicker," he explains in a low voice, leading them slowly. "But says the man runnin' things downstairs in their cellar prolly' has a tip or two."

"The cellar?" Ana asks.

"Says they use it as a poker room for th' high rollers," he explains as you come to the stairs. "Pretty common practice round these parts." You follow him down the stairs and into a basement. The lighting is dim, but although it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, you can make out the sign on the door in the corner of the basement clearly. _STAFF ONLY._ "This way," he says, opening the door, all of you following him through.

The room is dark and silent.

"Hello?" Jesse asks in the pitch black. " _Shit,_ if I've paid that man a hundred dollars t' get access t' a broom closet I'm--"

There's a click, then a thump as the room fills with a _blinding_ light. You shield your eyes with your arms, stepping back suddenly and bumping into Hanzo. You can hear the door slam shut, followed by a large number of all-too-familiar clicks. Guns being readied. No one says anything, and when your eyes adjust you realise that you're surrounded by armored figures that are armed with weapons far more advanced than your pistol, all of them aimed at your party of four.

No one dares move, although Jesse's hand rests on his own gun, Hanzo has his bow in his hand and Ana has her own rifle raised. All this accounted for, it still wouldn't be enough. Even if Jesse took out six of them, there's enough of these armored figures to take down at least one of you -- and you're not an idiot. It would probably be you.

"Well," a voice all but purrs. "If it isn't the love of my life."

At a desk in front of you sits a woman, her feet kicked up on the desk casually, the silver of her spurs shining in the harsh lights from above. She's dressed in Deadlock colors, although her clothing is decidedly more bespoke than the other Deadlock members you've come across before. Her face is obscured by a black cowboy hat, the detailing in it's leather intricate and feminine -- but you can see her smirk, her lips painted red, the application without flaw.

"Draw," she suddenly commands, her tone sharp, followed by a thunderous crack, your eyes snapping to the source of the sound. A revolver at her hip, just high enough to fire over the mahogany of the desk.

Jesse falls to the floor.

You all but scream, scrambling to his side. Ana's arm reaches out for you but you dodge it, falling to the floor beside him, quickly sitting him up. You half expect to be shot, for the room to erupt into an orchestra of gunfire -- but it doesn't happen. Instead, you pull Jesse into your lap so he's upright, his legs sprawled out in front of him. Your hands are already covered in blood. " _Shit!_ " He growls through his teeth. She shot him in the shoulder, where the joint meets the clavicle.

You can hear the sound of Hanzo drawing his bow. "Who are you?" He growls. You pray he doesn't fire. You can hear Ana warn him gently. You're trying to not panic as you watch Jesse's clothing progressively turn red.

The woman at the desk laughs to herself, twirling her pistol around her finger before sliding it back into her holster. "Deadeye, I am insulted!" She clicks her tongue. "You've brought all your friends here and you haven't told them anything about me?" The woman gives a long, dramatic sigh. "And to think that my reputation used to proceed me."

Jesse gives a painful grunt. "Leave 'em _alone,_ Wicker," he warns.

Your eyes widen and you can't help yourself, glancing from her to him. " _That's_ Wicker?!" You ask, so full of adrenaline that you don't think twice.

"Let me guess: you thought I was a man?" She asks, removing her hat and placing it carefully down on the desk beside her feet. She runs a hand through her thick, black hair, shaking it as she does so to bring it back to what you assume is its usual volume. She's... gorgeous. Still. Even at her age. "That happens surprisingly often for the age we live in. Quite sexist, if you ask me." She pauses and chuckles. "People still can't wrap their heads around a woman building her own business empire." Her eyes settle on you, the sharpness of them sending a chill through you. "Hold on!" She exclaims, seeming genuinely surprised. "Is that your wife?!"

"Wicker," Jesse warns.

Wicker gives a shrill laugh, her feet coming down from the desk as she claps her hands together, the leather gloves she's wearing dampening the sound. "My god! You actually did it!" She's grinning ear to ear as she rises, standing and making her way around the desk, seemingly elated. "You actually brought your whore-wife with you! I mean, I got the reports, sure, but I didn't think you'd actually bring her to Cochinay! You absolute madman, Deadeye!" Wicker leans over a little, keeping her distance, but doing so just enough to get a really good look at the both of you, her hands on her hips. "Looking good for her age, too!" She pauses, her eyes moving to Jesse. "You, on the other hand, look like _shit,_ Deadeye." She gives a shrug and steps backwards, raising her eyebrows. "Maybe if you'd come back to Deadlock when you had the chance instead of staying with Overwatch like the traitorous bastard you are, you could have benefitted from the same physiological rejuvenation I did thanks to the wonders of bioscience!"

"That kind of bioscience is highly illegal," Ana says, her rifle still aimed. "How did you get someone to perform it on you?"

Wicker gives a frustrated sigh and backs herself up to the desk, leaning back until she's all but sitting on it. She slams her hands down on it's surface, her playful manner still in tacked. "Thanks. To. Talon. Stupid." She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "Did the Talon agents not give that away?" She asks, gesturing to the armed figures. "God, I hope you're not the best that Overwatch has to offer or I'm going to be really embarrassed for... what's his name?" She asks. "Gabrielle?" Wicker raises her hand and taps her chin with her index finger. "Or, well, I think I'm supposed to call him Reaper. Apparently the only one who's allowed to be on a first name basis is the French one." She laughs, tossing her hand about like it's all a joke. "I'm so bad with names! Nicknames I can do, though. I think I'll call her French Fry. It's going to be an awkward first week once I've officially joined, that's for sure!"

"You're joining Talon," Jesse growls. "Surprised it took ya' this long."

There's more and more blood, and Jesse, although trying to control his breathing, is already struggling. "Please," you ask her with urgency, "he needs a doctor!" You quickly glance back to Hanzo and Ana, who although ready to strike should anyone attack, seem as concerned as you. "We won't get in your way," you plead, looking back to her, "we'll leave ya' in peace, no conflict, whatever ya' say."

Wicker tilts her head to the side, a false expression of empathy on her face. "As sad as you look right now, that would defeat the purpose of me shooting him."

"Do ya' need collateral?" You ask. "T' make sure we won't come after ya'? 'Cause ya'll can take me instead, I won't--"

You're cut off by the sound of a loud, dramatic groan. "Spare me, please. This has been so interesting, don't make it boring and predictable." She rolls her eyes. "I shot him because I wanted him _dead,_ sweetheart." She gives a pause. "I mean, Reaper ordered me to not kill anyone before he came to pick me up, something about there being a 'right time' or something. I don't know. Seems like a bit of a drama queen to me." She shrugs as though this is something super relatable before she continues. "But Deadeye and I have history. Like, the kind of history you build with someone when they turn around and stab you in the back, or when they show up with their new super-group and nearly shut down everything you've ever built."

He's starting to involuntarily tremble. "Please don't do this."

"Eh." Wicker crosses one leg over the other. "I mean, I'll get in trouble, sure. Think he had plans to bring you back to the team," she muses, gesturing to Jesse. "Somethin' bout the French Fry following you back to whatever whore house they drop her off at and taking her hostage. I dunno if they were planning a swap or what -- mentioned 'neural reconditioning,' whatever the hell that is -- but he had _so many_ files on you and was asking _so many_ questions. Really annoying. It's meant to be _my_ big day, you know? And here they are, talking about some whore." Wicker shakes her head. "Anyway, point is, you're all welcome to go back to... _wherever_ once my new friends pick me up. Until then, no one's going anywhere. We don't want anyone calling in whatever backup you've probably got waiting, right?"

You realise she's serious. That's it. There's no more to her plan. She trapped you. Jesse's dying. She's won. Jesse's head rests against you, his body weakening. "No, no, no," you whisper frantically, cradling his head, brushing his hair out of his face. "Don't do this, Jesse, c'mon. We can fix this."

Despite the fact he's bleeding out, Jesse still manages to ply on a smile for you. "This ain't so bad," he assures you, his voice quiet to match yours. "Better than the last time I died. Least I get t' keep all my limbs this time."

You laugh a little, finding a little humor in the fact he's still making stupid jokes, even now, even though you've started crying. "Here come the waterworks," Wicker groans. "Shame we don't have more time to do things honorably," she muses. "Back when we ran together, we'd solve this with a good old fashioned stand-off. Pistols at dawn. That good stuff." She smiles to herself as though she's oblivious to the dying man on the floor. "Say what you will about me later on, sweetheart, but I have honor when it counts."

There's a sound from behind you. A 'tch.' It's Hanzo. "Honor?" He asks. "You know _nothing_ about honor."

"Hey," she argues, gesturing to Jesse as she addresses Hanzo, her tone suddenly serious. "This man turned on me. He's the reason so many of my men are dead, the reason I have to merge with Talon now in order to keep Deadlock up and running. Killing him is a matter of my honor as a leader."

"No," Hanzo replies, his tone dark. You can hear him step forward, and when you look to him you can see that he's lowered his bow. "You shot him without warning, in front of his wife, and now you will allow him to die on the floor with no dignity." Hanzo holds his head high, a regalness about him. You wonder if this is what he has brought with him from his days leading the clan. "I am the leader of the great Shimada clan," he says, his gaze locked with hers. "If you truly have honor, you will meet me at dawn for a duel in exchange for this man's life, which you have attempted to take without pride."

You look to Wicker and to your shock, the care-free attitude she once carried has vanished, her face frozen in a glare, her hands gripping to the edge of the desk, her knuckles white. "I don't have time to waste on this, Legolas. Get out of here before I kill you, too."

"If you must," he says, unshaken. "But know that if I do not return alive today, my brother will know that I have died at your hand, as will Reaper, even though you gave your word that we would be unharmed. And breaking your word to kill the head of the Shimada clan is not something that would be taken lightly." A silence fills the room. You realise you're clinging to Jesse not just to keep him in this world, but out of your own fear. One wrong move and every single one of those Talon agents will fire on you.

Wicker looks him up and down, her face shifting into a sneer. "And what will you bring to this duel?" She asks. "You're going to bring a bow to a gunfight? How do you propose you'll win?"

"That should not concern you," he replies, pausing for a moment to smirk a little. "Unless you are afraid that you are not skilled enough to best me." You watch as her jaw tenses and another silence hangs over the room. You have no idea how Hanzo can be so composed right now. You're so frightened that you feel like you could pass out at any moment. He gives a singular nod. "I see. I did not take you for a coward."

That's it. Wicker slams her fist down on the desktop. "Fine!" She shouts. "You want a duel, Katniss? Fine! In front of the saloon. Dawn. No Overwatch, no Talon backup. Only members of either to come of those dropships are us, or there is going to be all out fucking warfare and I'll come for the whore first," she warns, her tone especially pointed as she gestures to you. "Yeah, that's right, we know." She looks to the armed figures. "Guns down. They're free to go. Killing him is gonna look way better on my resume." Turning her back, Wicker storms back to her desk, taking a seat and opening some kind of holo-terminal, a scowl on her face the entire time. "Get him the fuck out of here before I change my mind."

While Ana keeps her hands on her rifle, Hanzo hurries to your side, taking a moment to return his bow to his back and re-quiver the arrow before helping you get Jesse off the floor. The two of you all but carry him out, Ana following with her hat in his hand, speaking into her comms device as you flee the cellar and eventually the tavern. You carry him as fast as your legs will allow, talking to him about literally anything as you move, trying to keep him conscious. He's lost so much blood.

Even though it's only a few minutes, it seems like an eternity when you arrive at the dropship, and only as it opens to receive you do you realise something and find yourself struggling to breathe. Wicker shot down Jesse McCree. She shot down _Deadeye._ That's almost unheard of, even with the skill you already knew she had from what Jesse and other Deadlock members have told you. There's no way they stopped at 'rejuvenating' her face. No. They must have done something to make her a better shot. Talon must need her to be their answer to Jesse.

There is absolutely no way Hanzo will win this duel. Hanzo Shimada will die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a big one! I can't wait to start writing on the next chapter but I pulled an all nighter writing this and I'm delirious. (It's 9am. I haven't slept, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.)
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, as per usual, thank you all so much for the wonderful comments. Seriously. Keep leaving them. I need them to live. I wouldn't be motivated to hammer at this like I do without your support. I need CONSTANT VALIDATION.  
> Remember to follow me on twitter: www.twitter.com/elizabethdanger <3


	19. The Hellbenders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Oral sex on a penis. Ejaculation. Blood... wow, that's... that's a combo, right there.

It takes a while for the gravity of the situation to properly sink in, really. It's not until about fifteen minutes after they sit you down in the main area of the dropship while they see to Jesse that you realise your hands are still bloody.

"Um. Do you want a towel or something?" A voice asks, one you don't recognise, snapping you back to reality after spending so much time playing it all over and over in your head. You look up to see a young girl standing across from where you sit, watching you curiously. She's wearing some kind of jumpsuit, pink lines on her face, an eyebrow raised and her head tilted. You've never seen anyone dressed like this before.

You blink and glance to your head. "Oh, right." Shooting her a hopeful smile, you nod. "I'd 'preciate that, if ya' could."

"Cool," she quickly hurries off, a little urgency in her movements. She runs up some stairs, opens a locker and slams it shut not long after. "Here," she says on her return, offering you a towel and... packet of something plastic. "Baby wipes. I use them for makeup."

"Thankyou kindly." You look at the plastic packet, then to the girl. You've never seen... whatever this is before. Is it tissues or some sort? You open the little plastic lid in the center of the packaging to find the corner of some sort of thin cloth poking from the opening inside. Not entirely sure what to do, you very carefully remove it, the square of cloth snapping from the next when it catches on the lip of the lid. You realise that the girl hasn't stopped watching you, and when you glance up at her, she seems a little confused. "I uh," you give a nervous laugh, realising the cloth is moist with something. It smells nice, though. "I ain't ever used... _these_ before." You proceed to wipe your hands with it, the dried blood wiping off with ease. "Sorry, can I?" You gesture to the packet.

"Go nuts." She watches you as you remove another, getting off what's left. "So there's no baby wipes where you come from?" She asks.

You glance up at her from you hands, shaking your head. "Nah. I get the feelin' we're a lot simpler."

You stare at the cloth pieces when finished, trying to figure out what to do with them, but the girl quickly works out what you're after. She steps beside the seat you occupy, retrieving a small wastebasket and offering to you. "They're disposable," she explains. Once you've thrown out the baby wipes, she sets the wastebasket back down. "I'm Hana, by the way." You respond with your name in kind and she offers you a polite smile. "Sorry that they ditched you here like this. Ana's talking to Winston and everyone else is helping with McCree." Another pause. "No idea where Hanzo and Genji are, though." Hana shrugs. "Hanzo's probably yelling at him for something."

"It's fine." You give a shrug and fidget with the fabric of the towel. "Long as it means Jesse's gonna be ok."

"Pffft!" Hana all but blows a raspberry, rolling her eyes playfully and pulling a face as she crosses her arms. "This is nothing! You should have seen how he showed up last time him and Hanzo took shore leave. He's been shot up so many times I'm surprised the dude can walk, tbh." _Tbh?_ What does that mean? It must be a young person thing -- Hana seems quite young. You make a note to ask about it later with someone who won't laugh at you, like Hanzo. "What is he, like 40? I'm pretty sure he can't die. Don't worry."

"Thirty seven," you correct automatically, not even realising you've done it.

Although you're a little embarrassed by this, Hana doesn't seem to notice or think any of it. "Right. That." She glances to the doors on the far-right of the drop-ship, whatever's beyond being where they took Jesse. "It's so weird that he never told us he was married. He brags about, like, everything. Did Hanzo know?" She asks.

You shake your head. "'Fraid I was a bit of a surprise t' everyone."

"Hm." Her eyebrows rise momentarily, a little surprise in her expression, rocking her weight from one leg to another. She seems a little restless. "That's so weird. They know like, everything about each other." Hana quickly turns her gaze back to you. "Actually, I legit thought they were gay for ages." The sound that comes out of you is one you haven't made in a while, the guffaw you involuntarily release at this revelation causing you to throw your hand over your mouth as Hana laughs herself. "Mercy's probably gonna be pissed, though."

"Mercy?" You repeat, coming down from your laughter.

"Angela," she corrects. "That's her Overwatch... name... thingy."

"Oh," you nod, "yeah, been told 'bout all that." You give a shrug. "She seems like a nice lady from the twenty seconds I saw of her on th' way in."

Hana gives a shrug. "Yeah, she's cool, she's kinda' the Mom friend... but when she's mad?" She visibly winces a little at the thought. "He's in trouble when he's recovered. I don't think they would have dated and stuff if she'd known he was married at the time."

Although you want to ask about what exactly qualifies as 'stuff,' you decide to clarify things first. "Nah, we ain't been married since he joined you guys," you explain. "Authorities declared 'im dead n' I signed the papers. Cancels the marriage."

What you expect in response is another shrug of acceptance. Instead, though, Hana thinks for a moment, frowning. "Are you sure?" she asks, eyes thinning a little in hesitancy. "Because I read this thing about this dude in Thailand who's wife went missing and she was declared dead, so the dude moved on and re-married and stuff. But then like, six years later his first wife showed up and was totally fine, so legally they were still married." She shrugs. "I mean, in the end the dude just went back to the first wife because it meant his marriage with the second one was void, and I think they all like, live in the same property now because he had kids with the second one? I don't know. It worked out, though."

You shift uncomfortably. That's... not something you've considered. At all. And honestly, you don't really want to. "That... sure is a story."

Noticing your discomfort, Hana's eyes widen. "But like, that's Thailand," she quickly assures you. "It's probably different here because... America!"

You open your mouth to assure her that she's probably right, but a set of doors from another room on the ship open, Hanzo and someone else emerging. The figure beside Hanzo is... well, you've seen pictures of Omnics before, and it definitely looks like one... but not like any sort you've seen in the papers. This one is more lean, parts of it looking like the layout of the muscular system. Hanzo seems happy to see him. "Is this her?" The figure asks, gesturing to you as the two approach. His accent is similar to Hanzos, if not the same.

"Genji," Hanzo sighs, "please, do not--"

"Maybe you will listen to her!" He interrupts. So this is Genji. He picks up his pace, walking ahead of his brother, gesturing towards you. "Please," he asks, "tell him not to take part in this duel."

You blink. "Wait." You look to Hanzo, who has finally caught up. "You ain't actually serious 'bout goin' through with that, are ya'?" You ask. You wait for him to say otherwise, but Hanzo stands there in silence, looking away ever so much as to not hold eye contact with you. "...Oh my god. No. Don't do this."

"I am obligated to keep my word," he replies, his tone strong, as though he's somehow proud of his own conviction. "I have staked my honor on it."

"It's suicide!" You argue, completely amiss that you're having this conversation.

He gives a short puff of air. "Then I will die honorably, protecting my friend."

Genji shakes his head, beginning to pace. "You aren't even head of the Shimada clan anymore," he points out. "You have based this on nothing."

"I had to appeal to her pride," he explains, staying calm at a time where you can see Genji is close to losing his cool. "And technically, I am, even if the clan is no more."

You panic, your eyes widening. He's serious. "You mean t' tell me that you're gonna go t' a gunfight with a bow n' arrow?" You shut your eyes, knowing fully well that's what he intends, and sigh. "Please don't do this t' me. Not now," you plead. "Not after all this we been through."

A silence falls over the group, Hana's eyes flittering between the other three. "Ummm..." She steps back, visibly uncomfortable. "This seems kinda personal, so I'm just gonna... go... check on Mercy." She quickly backs away, all but sprinting from the tension.

"You are covered in blood," Hanzo observes suddenly, looking you up and down. "There are showers on the ship where you can--"

"Don't go changin' the subject," you snap. "She'll kill you." Your jaw is tensing and it's all you can do to stop yourself from crying in front of his brother. "I didn't come all the way t' _Cochinay_ so ya' could die, Hanzo."

There's a pause, both of you watching him carefully. For a second it seems that his mind might change, that he may be reconsidering, especially given the way his expression softens. However, soon it returns to the determined expression he was wearing before. "I have been in more gunfights than I can count," he assures you, a little smile crawling into the corners of his mouth. "I will be fine." You don't believe him at all.

The doors of the medbay open, all of you looking towards it automatically as the sound of heels hitting the steel floor of the ship echo through the space. It's Angela. She walks towards you in silence, and although she looks a little tired, she seems pleased. "He will be fine," she announces once close enough to the group. "He's resting for now, but you'll be welcome to see him when awakens." She speaks specifically to you when she says this.

You give an audible sigh of relief, unable to contain it. "Thank god!" You all but laugh. "He lost so much blood, an' it's just... well, where I'm from, ya' don't come back from that."

"Nothing I couldn't fix," she assures you. "I was quite concerned about the state of his shoulder tendons, but with enough bed rest he should be good as new by the end of the month." She pauses, glancing to Hanzo. "And I mean that," she warns. "No shore leave. I know he is persuasive but he will have a regimen to follow until he is fully recovered, and as his friend I expect you to see that he sticks to it."

Despite the remaining tension in the air, Hanzo gives a chuckle, smiling a little and nodding at the Dr's orders. "I will do my best," he replies, "but you know what he is like."

Angela purses her lips, letting out a short _'hm'_ before turning her attention to you. "And how are you?" She asks. You can already feel her eyes checking you over at the surface. "Ana tells me you were injured."

"Oh!" You look to the arm where you were injured. "I mean, I was, but it ain't anythin' serious. Ana took pretty good care of it."

"I'd still like to take a look," she says, stepping forward. You comply, unbuttoning the top couple of buttons of your shirt and siding the neckline down to expose it to her. She leans in, taking your arm in her hand, inspecting beneath the bandage. "I see..." She gives a nod, stepping back and allowing yourself to over your arm again. "And you are in no pain?"

You shake your head, re-buttoning your shirt. "Nah. I mean, it hurts if I touch it or stretch up too far, but it's fine."

"It's going to need stitches," she says, her tone a little decisive. Something in her expression changes, though, like she's finally switching out of work mode, and she smiles. "You get to keep your arm this time." The two of you share a short laugh, although no one else joins in, making you wonder how much Angela and you share personality wise. "I have to go clean up in the med bay before we can start, though, so I'd suggest you have a shower beforehand." She glances to the brothers. "Genji, can you show our friend to--"

"I will," Hanzo interrupts. It's beginning to dawn on you that your relationship with Hanzo might not be common knowledge amongst his teammates yet. He says no more, instead just gesturing for you to follow him. Mercy shoots a confused glance at Genji, which you only seem to catch sight of as you pass them.

He leads you through into a small hallway, past a few doors and around a corner before coming to a stop in front of a room just labelled 'shower.' "I am sorry that my brother dragged you into our argument," he says. "Genji has little self control when it comes to such matters."

"No," you shake your head. "He was right to." You step towards him, the towel Hana gave you tucked under one arm as the other raises a palm to lay flat on his chest. "Is there anythin' I can say t' stop ya' from goin'?" You ask, his gaze meeting yours. Hanzo exhales, expression softening again, one hand travelling to rest against the small of your back as you close the distance between eachother, the other cupping the side of your face.

"Is there anything I can say to stop you from worrying?" He asks. It's entirely rhetorical, though. You'll worry no matter what, and as angry as it's making you, he's going to go ahead and do this anyway.

"Hanzo!" A voice calls. Yet another new voice, the sound of something heavy and clunky following. "You are mistaken if you think Genji wasn't going to say anything!"

Hanzo quickly looks around, his shoulders tensing. "Fareeha," he whispers. "I have already been interrogated once today."

Realising that this isn't a conversation Hanzo wants to have, you look around quickly for a solution before settling on the door beside you. "Quick," you open the door, all but pushing him inside, following and locking it behind you.

The room is tiled, and it more like a bathroom than just a shower. There's a small sink, a some shelves for clothes and a shower with glass panels in the corner. You can hear Fareeha closing in, whatever she's wearing betraying her. You gesture for Hanzo to be quiet and quickly step to the shower, opening the glass door and turning the water on. Not long after, there's a knock on the door.

"Hanzo!" the voice from the other side demands, knocking again. "We have to discuss this!"

"'Scuse me?" You call, faux shock in your voice. "Discuss what?"

There's a pause. "I... um..." the voice trails off, thrown off by hearing your voice in place of her intended target. The woman on the other side clears her throat. "I am sorry. Do you know where I can find Hanzo?"

"Sorry!" You call. "Last I saw he was headin' back t' find Genji. Said somethin' bout 'things left unsaid.' Dunno what that means!" You glance to Hanzo, who is watching you with a smile. He seems impressed. "But if ya' can talk 'im 'outta it, I'd be mighty grateful!"

The woman says something under her breath that you can't make out before raising her voice to be heard over the shower again. "Thank you. Sorry to interrupt." The loud metal begins to clunk again as she walks away, fading in volume until it's no more.

Once the coast is clear, Hanzo bursts out into a hearty laugh, smiling from ear to ear, something about seeing him this way sparking something in you. "Even now, you find ways to surprise me." Leaving the water on, you begin to unbutton your shirt, making your way to the shelving where Hanzo stands. His smile fades a little, and you realise he is staring at you, as if to ask what you're doing.

"The Dr says I gotta' shower," you explain, a spark of mischief in your voice, looking him up and down as you continue to unbutton. You remain silent, removing the shirt and discarding it on the shelf. You turn your beck to him, your hands reaching behind your back to unhook your bra. "How long's it been since ya' had a good shower like this?" You ask, eyebrow raised. "Reckon' ya' should join me."

You begin to kick off your boots and although it takes him a moment to process it, you can soon hear the shifting fabric of Hanzo's own clothing. You pick up your speed, undressing and stepping into the shower, adjusting the temperature of the water as he finishes disrobing. He soon joins you.

"Too hot?" You ask him.

He leans over you a little, your face looking up at him as his hands find their way to the curve of your waist again. "It is not really my concern right now," he replies. His voice is low, husky, and before you can come up with a witty reply his mouth is on yours and your hands come to rest against his chest.

There's something unique about kissing someone in the shower, you realise. Something about kissing someone under the warm, running water that changes the texture of things, the feel. Everything feels softer, more pliable. Neither of you have the softest lips, especially after the almost month long journey you've had, but right now they feel the opposite. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you tight against him as your arms move up to rest over the top of his shoulders. God, his body feels so firm, and the feeling of your breasts pushing against his chest with the addition of the water is... well, if it feels good for you, it must feel out of this world for him -- the rumble from his throat indicates that you're right.

You make a tiny bit of distance between you, sliding your hands back down his chest, taking your time running your fingertips over his defined torso. Christ. It's like he's made of marble and it's probably never going to get old. You can feel the muscles tighten as he brings a hand to your breast. A thumb rolls over your nipple as your hand wanders lower, but before you can get to your destination, he dips his head down, bending his back to take your nipple in his mouth, his other hand coming to feel your free breast. You've had this before, and it's never really done anything for you before. If anything, it's always been a way to waste the time your clients paid for without actually having to do much. But, as with everything, Hanzo seems to be more than adept. Something about the way he does it awakens this sensation, not one you feel in your nipple, but a sweet sensation in your chest, one that makes your head swim a little. With a long, pleased sigh you relax into it, reaching back to take the tie from his hair. It's already wet, anyway. You pull the hair elastic over your hand to keep it on your wrist before returning your hand to his head to run your fingers through his hair.

Eventually, though, he releases your breast and you pull him back up to kiss you. Finally, you're able to take him into your hand and holy _shit_ he is hard right now. Even as you gently stroke him, you can feel a twitch or two. There's something about the way his breath catches in his throat and the way his grip on you tightens ever so much that's addictive. You want more of it. You gently back him up against the wall of the shower and very carefully sink to your knees, and although he looks confused at first, or like he might protest, the second you run your tongue up the underside of his shaft you see the same look you're in love with.

You work your way up from the base to the tip, siding your lips up the side, like an elongated kiss. When you come to the tip, you take it into your mouth -- but only the tip, looking up to watch his reaction. There's a desperation in his eyes, almost, as you hold it there. But there's something else. It seems like awe, but you decide it can't be. That wouldn't make sense. This can't be the first time he's gotten a blowjob. You don't learn to go down on a woman like that without getting a few blowjobs on the way, surely.

Satisfied with the want on his face, you begin, taking more and more into your mouth. He's a good size for it -- enough for it to touch the back of your throat if you wish, but without the hazard of gagging before taking all of him in. The first few times is really just to coat him in your saliva, to get him lubricated so it's easier to slide your lips over his skin. His breathing is already getting heavier by the time you really start, moving your head back and forward, tongue running down the underside of his shaft as you move forward and then sucking on his cock as you pull away.

His hand comes to grip the top of your head, his fingers gently weaving into your hair as you suck him. You notice his hips start to pump, ever so much, and while you're sure he's trying his best to resist, you pick up the pace of your rhythm. This continues for a while until you pull back completely, taking him in your hand and continuing to stroke slowly while you catch your breath and rest your jaw for a moment, a string of his precum remaining and drawing out between your lips and his tip.

"If you don't stop," he warns, himself breathless, "I am going to--"

"Good." You smirk before taking him in your mouth again, letting him touch the back of your throat this time, letting him go as deep as you can manage. He gives a groan, his grip on your hair tightening. He's close. This is so satisfying, making him so happy, seeing him enjoy himself like this. You love the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the sounds he makes and the even the taste of him. You love all that as much as his smile, and his laugh whenever you're privileged enough to hear it, or the way he describes things as vividly as a painting. You love the way he always makes you feel safe. You love him.

You pull back a little, your hand coming to grip his base as your mouth works the remaining length, trying to put that thought to the back of your mind as you work even faster, your whole body going into it. That's a strong word for someone you've known for little over a month, someone you haven't spent a proper amount of time with. And even if it were the case -- which it isn't, you insist, because that's ludicrous and you know better -- giving someone a blowjob in a shower isn't the time to realise you're in love with them.

He all but starts to fuck your mouth now, losing control, his discipline going out the window as he purrs your name, his tone the same low and gravelly one you crave to hear. And then, with a low and powerful growl, you feel his seed spill into your mouth. You pull back, a little unprepared for it, and feel it dribbling from your mouth, dripping down your chin and onto your chest. Right. No condom.

Still, though, by the way Hanzo looks at you when he realises you're all but dripping his cum from your mouth onto your tits, it's pretty easy to see that it's a pleasing sight to behold. "You," he pants, breathless, leaning against the wall as he tries to recover, "are going to be the death of me one day."

"Good thing we're already in the shower." You shoot him a wink, slowly and carefully rising back to your feet and stepping back under the water, cleaning yourself off.

Hanzo soon joins you, and as he holds you in an embrace under the warmth of the water, you decide that you'll do anything at all to protect him. You can't lose this.

Surely Jesse has a plan. He has to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured you guys deserved a little more smut after the last couple of chapters. It's ok. I got u fam.  
> Next chapter won't be a flashback either, because we still have some stuff to get through on the dropship. Promise it's good, though. And more interactions with other overwatch members. Oh boy!  
> Or you can just follow me on twitter: twitter.com/elizabethdanger
> 
> Keep the comments coming. They mean the world to me and my readers are the fucking best. <3 I love knowing wat u like eyyyyy


	20. And God Said To Cain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Descriptions of sex work, very light surgical procedures, awkward ex-girlfriend conversations.

"You've done a wonderful job taking care of it considering the circumstances," Angela observes as she injects your skin with a numbing agent. You sit beside her in her office, everything neat and tidy, shades of pale yellow or white or grey.

"I uh, usedta' be a midwife," you explain. "Guess it came as second nature t' me."

She raises her eyebrows as she discards the empty needle, swapping it for a small tray of the sutures and curved needle that will sew them in. "A midwife?" She repeats. "I've always wondered what medical care is like where you're from. The way Jesse speaks of it has lead me to believe it's..." Angela pauses, searching for the right word, but you decide to throw her a line.

"Ain't as fancy as this, that's fer' sure," you say, looking around a little. "Actually, this whole place is... somethin'." You smile, giving a short and nervous laugh as you realise she's beginning her work -- although you can't feel a thing. "I ain't ever seen nothin' like it."

Mercy laughs a little to herself, her hands remaining steady despite it. "Just wait until you arrive at the Watchpoint, then," she says. "I still remember the first time Jesse tried to use our computer system." She pauses, a fond smile on her face. "He was scared to turn it on."

"Can't imagine I'd be much different," you laugh.

Despite the good start you were off to, the conversation dissipates after this for a good while, neither of you seeming to know what to say next. It's dawned on you that you've discussed Jesse with the woman he was seeing when he was meant to be married to you, and while you can't say you hold her at any fault, she probably feels just as awkward about it as you do.

She finishes with the final suture and smiles. "There," she announces. "All done! I'll check on them again at the Watchpoint, and once it's time to take them out you should be cleared to go home." She pauses. "If you want to go, that is. I... You could... I don't know what arrangement you've..." She quickly turns to her desk, placing everything into the tray, and you can see that she's a little bit red in her cheeks.

You take a deep breath, taking a short moment before deciding to bite the bullet. "I know 'bout it," you say. "It's fine. I ain't upset with ya' or nothin'."

Angela looks to you, a little bit of surprise in her eyes. Her posture, though, starts to relax a little. "I would understand if you--"

"No," you insist. "Really. Ain't like ya' knew'. Jesse usedta' have a habit of... playin' people 'round him."

She finally relents a little, smiling closing her eyes and giving a gentle sigh. "Good," she says, a hint of laughter in her voice. "I know it was a long time ago," she explains, "but when I found out, I still felt..." She pauses and glances to the door. "When he is recovered, we will have words. Believe me."

You shrug. "I hope ya' have more success than I did."

"I just..." she tilts her head, searching for words. "Why must he lie?" She asks you, the sincerity of the question shocking you a little. You wonder how long she's been wanting to say this to someone who'll understand. "I understand that he sometimes spins tales to stroke his own ego or impress others, but he would lie about such important things..." She trails off, shaking her head at the thought. "And to the people he cares about the most?"

"Tell me 'bout it," you laugh. "Told me some real whoppers, tell y' what." It's coming out of you like a strange word vomit now, but there's a solidarity to this conversation you haven't had before. She might actually understand you. "Like where he was gettin' our money from. Or th' time he told me I was th' reason we couldn't have kids," you pause for effect, "and kept tellin' me that for another _three years._ And I don't think I gotta' tell ya' what he did after that." You feel like you should both be holding a glass of wine.

Her jaw hanging open, she scoffs. "My god." She shakes her head. "Ana told us it was bad, but not... I am so sorry."

"Don't be." You lean back into your seat, a little smile at the corner of your mouth. "What'd he lie t' you 'bout?" You ask.

"Nothing as quite as atrocious," she replies dismissively.

"Seriously," you say, your tone encouraging. "I wanna know. It's good talkin' t' someone who understands."

She pauses, eventually nodding her head in agreement. "It was small things at first. When we began seeing eachother we were... young," she recalls. "When he would drink, he would be..." Angela scrunches up her face. It tells you what you need to know. "He would go out with Gabriel and promise he wouldn't drink to excess. And then he would. I would try so hard for us to have leave together, but he would never want to spend time with me outside of the Watchpoint." She gives an exhale. "And then, one day, I found out that he'd been spending his leave with a girl in Dorado." She exhales, shrugging. "I suppose it was better that it was as short lived as it was. I imagine it saved me a lot of trouble."

"Dorado, huh?" You ask. "Think Hanzo told me somethin' 'bout that."

"Yes. I don't think he ever stopped seeing her," she replies. "The thing that made me angriest was that he insisted that it wasn't what I thought it was. And when I was willing to listen to an explanation, he never wanted to give me one." She clicks her tongue, shaking her head again. "Amazing what that man will sacrifice to avoid admitting he's wrong."

"Preaching' to the choir, Ma'am," you snort.

The two of you share a an exhale as you're both flooded with memories that are thematically similar, more comfort falling into the room as you just _be_ for a moment. You can't say you know much else about Angela spare for what Jesse and the others have told you, but something about this comfortable silence following such an uncomfortable topic makes you think that you might get along.

Eventually, though, Angela nods to herself, deciding it's time to move on from the memories. "Jesse is in the room across the hall," she says. "You're welcome to visit him."

"Yeah," you smile, rising from your seat, pulling at the back of your borrowed dresses' hem just in case. It's a dress that Hana has given you to wear until your own clothes are cleaned of your ex-husbands blood, and while it's not a dress you exactly dislike, the shortness and cut of it is incredibly foreign to you -- although you _do_ like the floral print. "Hanzo's in there right now. Reckon' I might go join him." You open the door, taking a final look at Angela. "Thank you."

Crossing the hall, you open the door to the small room labelled 'Recovery' where Jesse is located. Inside, you find Hanzo in the seat beside Jesse's bed, immediately looking to you the second you peer through the doorway. He smiles, rising from his seat. "How was it?" He asks, immediately crossing the room to you, inspecting the newly stitched wound.

"All good," you reply, shooting Jesse a quick smile. "No need for an amputation or nothin'."

For a moment, Hanzo's eyes widen, looking to you as though you've dropped terrible news on him that amputation was even an option. However, he quickly realises you're joking, his expression quickly changing to a gentle eye roll and a smile as he shakes his head. "You are far too much like that awful cowboy sometimes."

Jesse pipes up, a smirk on his face from his bed. "I'd certainly hope so. Taught that one everything she knows."

"Makin' it weird, Jesse," you warn, although not entirely seriously. You turn your attention back to Hanzo. "Can I have a moment with him?" You ask. "There's some... stuff we gotta clear up before t'morrow." The smile you deliver is one laced with suggestion, and Hanzo picks up on it immediately -- which, honestly, surprises you a little. How quickly your relationship has developed to the point of truth spoken through a smile.

"Of course." Hanzo smiles to you, then to Jesse. "I will visit again later," he says, before leaving the room, door closing behind him.

"Well, _hello_ there, Darlin'," Jesse finally says to you now that you're alone, a mischievous smile on his face, looking you up and down. "Ain't ya' a sight fer sore eyes!" He's referring to the dress you're wearing.

"Like it?" You joke, well aware he does if not just because it's _very_ short compared to what you usually wear. Or, at least, what you'd usually wear in front of polite company. It's longer than what you'd wear to work, but the sun dress is a little small for you, clinging to your figure, the neckline exposing more than you'd typically care to in this situation. And to think, Hana said it was a little _big_ for her. "Maybe I'll start dressin' like this all th' time."

He chuckles to himself as you arrive by his bedside. "Next thing ya' know, you'll be one of them city girls. Keepin' ya' little dog in ya' handbag while Shimada carries ya' shoppin'..." He pauses, the smile dipping a little. "...He still goin' through with it?" He asks.

You give a quiet nod. "Yeah. Was hopin' ya'd have a plan. I tried talkin' him outta' it, but I reckon' he might be more stubborn than you."

"Even after..." he raises an eyebrow, giving you a look that is easy enough to translate.

"Seriously?" You ask. "You seriously gonna ask me 'bout that at a time like this?"

He smirks. "Darlin', ya' screwin' my best friend. His hair's wet, your hair's wet, and I can tell when Shimada's happy. Ain't gotta be a scientist t' figure that out."

"Well that's not why--" you cut yourself off, closing your eyes and finding your centre. No. You're not here to argue that. "Jesse, please," your tone is calm, but firm enough to stress how serious this is. "I need ya' help. I can't let him go n' do this. Wicker ain't... normal."

He gives a frank nod. "Ya' ain't wrong," he replies. "Neurological reconditioning, they call it," he explains, reaching over with his left hand to a small data pad of some kind. "Talon didn't just fix her face. They been tunin' up her reflexes for 'bout three months now."

"How d'ya know that?" You ask, watching as he presses a button below the data-pad's screen.

"I got some friends in not so friendly places." He pauses, glancing at you. "Don't go tellin' th' others 'bout this, though. Just a lil' secret I got, keeps my friend safe." His eyes return to whatever is on the datapad. "They been in talks with Wicker for a few years now, but it was th' fancy biotech that really sold her." He pauses, glancing up to you. "When ya come back t' the Watchpoint, y' gotta stay."

Raising an eyebrow, you tilt your head a little. "'Scuse me?"

"Y' can't go back t'... wherever y' were gonna go back," he explains, scrolling over the screen on the datapad. "Wicker was right. They were after y' next. If Wicker'd killed me, reckon' they woulda' forgot 'bout ya... but now?" He gives an exhale. "It'd be Amelie all over again."

"Amelie?" You ask.

He exhales, setting the datapad down in his lap. "Look, don't go tellin' Winston I told ya' this, 'cause it's meant to be secret Overwatch stuff," he says, prefacing what he's about to tell you. "But back before the recall, when Overwatch was still operating like it was 'sposedta be, there was this guy on the squad. His name was Gerard, French guy. Can't say we worked t'gether a lot, different jobs n' all. Good guy, though, from what I'm told. Ana worked with him a lot, so'd Angie. Gerard was married, and Overwatch policy was that close family were allowed t' live on base, because, y'know, they'd be at risk. It's how we all know Birdy so well." You give him a confused look.  
"Er. Fareeha. Anyway, his wife's name was Amelie, and she didn't want a bar of it. Didn't like being at the Watchpoint when she visited, said she was bored and couldn't sleep. So she lived in some high security apartment Gerard rented out for her." He shrugs. "She was high-maintenance, but she was a real stunner, so I can see why he bent over backwards for her."

"Musta' really loved her."

"Oh, fer sure. And for all her primpin' an' whatnot, reckon' she loved him somethin' fierce. So when she went missin' from her apartment..." he trails off, recalling the memories, unsure how much detail he wants to go into. The fact that it was the only time he really got to know Gerard because he spent a lot of his spare time drinking with him and helping console him, the memories of Winston not sleeping for days on end while he upgraded Athena endlessly to try and find a trace of her, or Jack being almost beside himself with guilt for letting this happen at all. And Lena. God, seeing Lena try and stay chipper when the woman she'd struck such a close friendship with all but vanished was heartbreaking. "Damned well turned the world upside down tryna' find her. All of us. ...'Cept for Reyes." He shakes his head. "Shoulda' been the first goddamn sign."

"Sign of what?"

Jesse shrugs. "Story fer' another time, I reckon'." He gives you a weak smile before continuing. Whatever it is, he clearly doesn't want to talk about it. "One day, though, she shows up in her apartment, no memory of where she's been. We bring her in to the Watchpoint, check her over, and she seems fine. Angie reckon's she found some little things wrong with her blood work, but whoever had her musta' put that many drugs in her that we figured it was the leftovers. Gerard goes on leave and we send 'em both home." His jaw tenses a little. "Next mornin', he's dead. She killed him in his sleep and the next thing we know she's on the field with Talon, carryin' a sniper rifle. She took out out Ana." He pauses. "Or, well, we thought she did. As ya' seen, Ana's just fine. Again, long story."

You frown, taking this in. "And Talon are... who Wicker's workin' with, right?" You ask.

"Yeah," he says with a nod. "My _friend_ says they did that Neural Reconditioning thing t' Amelie, along with a buncha' other stuff. It's kinda' like mind control, but not." He scrunches up his face as he tries to articulate it. "I mean, t' the best of my understandin', it changes ya' personality, changes how ya' brain works. They've started the process on Wicker, although I'm guessin' her mind don't need much work, prolly' just her reflexes. But she-- er, _they_ also sent me a buncha' stuff 'bout you." He pauses, handing you the datapad to look for yourself.

The file in front of you is incredibly detailed. Your full, legal name, your date of birth, your height, weight -- things that aren't exactly public information anymore. But there's other things in the file. Your work hours and sleeping patterns, your diet. You feel a cold wave wash over you when you realise they even have your blood work on file. "...How did they get this?" You ask, your voice shaking a little as your heart begins to race. "I ain't done a blood test in years, Jesse. How do they know all this?"

He looks away, taking an anticipatory breath. "They had people watchin' ya'," he finally says, his eyes rising up to you in the way they usually would if he was guilty of someone. "You ever accidentally cut ya'self in fronta' one of ya'...?" he trails off, not wanting to say it. As comfortable as you are with your job, and as much as Jesse tried to be open-minded when he found out, you can tell it makes him a little uncomfortable. If it's because he's genuinely uncomfortable with the idea of you having sex for money or because he feels that his masculinity has somehow been bruised by his ex-wife going into that line of work, you'll probably never know.

You think back over the last few years. It's hard to remember, mostly because you've kept busy and only the clients that really stick out for whatever reason are the ones you remember, the rest seem to just mash together. "I mean, maybe once," you recall. "Client bought me a broach fer' my birthday this year and accidentally stuck me with it, but..." You pause, recalling the incident. Now that you think about it, the spot he accidentally stuck was odd. He had you in an embrace and managed to get you in the arm with it... and it really did bleed a lot. He cleaned the blood off your arm and the broach with his handkerchief.

He'd been coming by for almost two years. Odd man. Mostly wanted to talk, which you didn't mind. When he _did_ have his way with you, though, it was... unusual. He sometimes wanted to be as rough with you as you'd permit him. Most of the sex with him, though, was unusually tender, because the strangest thing about him was...

"He'd always leave on as mucha' his clothes as he could," you recall. "Never seemed t' wanna be naked." Although, given the state of what you _had_ been able to see of him... you could understand. You pause, quickly shaking your head. "He was one of m' regulars, though," you insist.

"Exactly." He reaches out for the data pad, waiting for you to hand it to him before he gently waves it, eyebrow raised. "Regular contact, regular intel. Prolly' a Doctor."

"Oh my god..." you say quietly, your eyes wide, the reality dawning on you. "They were gonna..."

He nods shortly. "Yup. Reckon' if we hadn't shown up, they woulda' eventually snatched ya' up and put ya through what they did t' Amelie. Same if we'd left ya' here after Winston was happy with ya' medical report." He pauses. "They didn't seem sure if they wanted ya' t' knock me off, convince me t' swap sides or take out Winston."

You look down at your hands, which are folded in your lap, fidgeting with the fabric of your dress. "But they knew about Hanzo, didn't they?" You ask. Wicker knew. She had to hear it from somewhere.

"Yeah," Jesse exhales. "The plan there was... don't think I gotta tell ya' what it was."

"Jesus," you exhale, running your hand through your hair. "Jesse, we gotta stop 'em. If they want Hanzo dead--"

"They want most of us dead, Darlin'."

"You know what I mean." You purse your lips. "Jesse, please."

He shakes his head, exhaling, "I'm sorry, Darlin," he says, "I really am, but Hanzo... he got a hangup 'bout this kinda' thing. Known him for a long time know and I know there ain't nothin' ya' can do once he starts talkin' bout honor and duty and whatnot."

You reach out suddenly, your hand coming to grip the side-rail of the hospital bed. "Jesse, don't you start pullin' this on me."

"I ain't pullin' nothin'," he insists. "Darlin', Hanzo... got stuff goin' on. Sure ya' figured it out. With what happened with Genji and all?" Suddenly he reaches out, taking your hand in his, carefully squeezing it. It's a squeeze of support. "Genji's had years t' work it out for 'imself. Hanzo's still got a lotta' it t' work through. The honor stuff is part of it, I reckon'."

There's a softness in his eyes that comes with anything genuine Jesse says, the rare moments he's speaking from the heart. Sometimes it's subtle, but right now it's plain as day. "Then help me t' help him," you ask, squeezing back. Your gaze meets his and no words need to be spoken. He knows exactly what you're asking. You're asking for a plan. A scheme. You're asking him for his speciality.

"...Y' sure 'bout this?" He asks. He waits for you to nod before he gives a long, exhausted sigh. "If ya' get in the way of his honor, he might not forgive ya'."

"That's a chance I'm willin' t' take," you reply. "I'd rather have him hate me than have him dead."

For a moment you spot something in Jesse's expression that you can't quite pin down, and his grip on your hand lessens a little as he slowly withdraws it. "'Course," he says under his breath. He gives a decisive nod, looking down to the datapad and clearing his throat as he scrolls through it, his voice returning to it's normal volume. "Y' gotta' 'member, Darlin', that Hanzo ain't from 'round these parts," he begins, something to his tone, something mischievous, encouraging you to read between the lines. "He don't know how stuff works out here, same way you and me ain't gonna know how stuff works out in Hanamura. Ain't much honor 'round here. Not when there's somethin' important on the line and all ya' got t' protect it is ya'self. I know it, I can tell ya' for a _fact_ that Talon knows it and are already plannin' as such, and I reckon' you know that best of all. Honor don't mean shit out here." He glances up to you. "I mean, I reckon I taught ya' that much." There's another pause, a little smirk on his face as his attention returns to the datapad. "Think ya' know what t' do."

You put the pieces together in your head. For the all the ups and downs that you and Jesse have had, you're still able to communicate like you used to, glances and pauses and subtext speaking more than the actual sentences spoken. You know exactly what he's suggesting. You smile gently and lean in quickly, kissing him on the cheek. "Thank you," you whisper. It's not so much that he's given you an idea or a master scheme, but more that he's validated it to you. "Thank you so much."

You rise from your seat, wanting to get ready immediately, begin to prepare yourself for the ordeal you're about to sign up for, but Jesse clears his throat just as you turn. "Do me a favour, Darlin'," he says. When you turn back to see him, his eyes are lifted from the screen again, watching you. He tilts his head, gesturing to a set of draws in the corner of the room. "Middle draw, I think. Memory's a bit hazy."

Approaching the draws, you open the second, and your eyed widen the very moment you set eyes on what he'd wanted you to find. "Really?" You ask, absolutely genuine in your surprise, twisting around quickly to look at him and make sure he was being sincere. He smiles and gives a nod.

"Think it'll be a little bit o' poetic justice," he says. "You 'member that thing Reyes usedta' say t' me? The one I told ya' bout when I came back?"

You smirk, taking it from the draw, holding it in your hands and giving a nod. "I remember."

* * *

You and Hanzo are given your own bunks that night, both of you allowed to get a full night of rest given what will happen in the morning. Despite this luxury, neither of you intended to sleep apart, and although Fareeha had made a point of seeing you both to your separate bunks -- _as though anyone actually cared_ \-- it isn't long until you attempt to climb out of yours as silently as possible. The bunk below yours is occupied by Hana, however, and although at first you think you've made it to the floor without disturbing her, she very quietly and sleepily whispers "please don't bone in front of me" as you creep away. Bone. That's a new term to you.

Luckily, Hanzo's Fareeha-assigned bunk is the bottom of the set next to yours, and joining him isn't anywhere near as difficult. He's expecting you, lifting the blanket and shifting over to create more space in the single bunk, allowing you to slide in next to him.

You settle there for a moment, getting comfortable, your breath slowing with his again until it's at rest. You nestle your head underneath his chin and feel one hand rest in the curve of your waist, the other coming to gently and lazily play with your hair, twisting the ends around his fingers, letting them softly slip through. "Suppose there ain't no point in me askin' again, is there?" You whisper as quietly as possible. You don't need to see his expression, the exhale he gives in response enough. "Least let me come with ya'."

"You cannot," he whispers back. "I am not to bring anyone, remember?"

You plant a kiss against the small dip where his neck meets his collarbone. "No, she said no Overwatch," you remind him. "I ain't Overwatch. Hell, I ain't the typa' girl t' hurt a fly. I'm no threat t' her."

His breath hitches a little at this. "...I do not like this." You can tell he wants to argue, but, like you, he knows that there's no point anymore.

"And I don't like ya' goin' out there t'morrow," you whisper, "but we both gotta' make compromises."

There's silence, the fingers in your hair still idly moving as he thinks on it. Eventually, he gives a long, tired exhale, and you feel him kiss the top of your head. "Sleep. We must rise early."

You drift off to sleep in his arms -- a reminder of what must be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm _so sorry_ this chapter took a little longer than usual to get out. I've been struggling with some severe back pain and I'm back at work and ahhhhhhhh~
> 
> In regards to a few things: I have kind of my own canon about one of the things hinted at here but I'll go into it a little more later. I guess this is already kind of an AU though so ~~ W H A T E V E R ~~  
> Also I figured they just have a dropship comparable to the Normandy from mass effect. That's what I'm going with. I didn't sign up to design drop ships bdauibauisfgbqiaufbs
> 
>  
> 
> Twitter: twitter.com/elizabethdanger  
> 


	21. Arizona Colt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mentions of torture, murder etc. Mentions of sex (nongraphic). Absolute bullshit on SOMEONE'S PART.

**Years Ago...**

\---

You come down the stairs from the room you're renting, morning optimism rolling over you when you can see the saloon is already busy. It's a good sign. Means a train has come through town, which means men with money. Men who are a little lonely after a long trip.

As you pass through the bar, you read the people in it. A few younger men who probably won't be looking for company until after they've had their fill of drink sit around a table. Some older gentlemen stand in a group, talking, and although their clothes are dirty and warn, you spot a gold chain danging from one of their jeans. A gold watch. Bingo. At least one of them has money.

"Mornin', Clementine," the barman says to you as you saddle up beside it. "First here, as usual."

"Well, gotta' get in 'fore them young things do," you joke. It actually matters little. The younger girls at this particular saloon may attract the eye, but you only look slightly older and have the benefit of experience. There's a reason you do so well. You've learned to sweet talk and charm from the best -- long before you ever got into the job.

The barman suddenly gives a short gasp, remembering something. "Oh! Gentleman came in this mornin' lookin' for ya'," he says. "Got in last night after ya' retired, didn't wanna' bar of the other girls. Just you."

"Get his name?" You ask.

He shakes his head. "That's the thing. Came in 'gain this mornin', 'bout an hour ago. Paid for a private room." He tilts his head to the little hall that leads to a series of small rooms available to hire, something often employed by gangs and bachelor parties. "Asked me t' send ya' in when ya' available."

Shrugging, you push yourself away from the bar. Wouldn't be the first time an old client has heard you're in town and travelled to come see you. "Guess I'll go check in with my friend, then," you say with a wry smile. "I'll try t' hustle him into some top shelf for ya'." You shoot the barman a wink to which he replies with a nod before making your way to the hall, a sway of confidence in your step. Guaranteed money first thing in the morning is always good, and if he's this fond of you, you can probably fleece him a little. Jack up the cost of your services.

Only one of the rooms has a closed door, making it obvious which one your 'friend' is in. You knock twice, only out of politeness, and open it, stepping through, a smile on your face and your eyes case down coquettishly. "Leonard at th' bar told me ya' came all the way here t' see me," you begin, a cheeky tilt in your voice, half way between flirting and teasing as you pull the door closed behind you. "Well, I'm ever so flatter--"

Your eyes rise to see who's sitting at the table.

"All this time and yer' still pretty as th' day I married ya', Darlin'."

He takes off his hat, placing it carefully on the table and running a hand through his hair. You can't bring yourself to speak. This isn't real. It can't be real. The man in front of you who is lighting a cigarillo is some kind of hallucination, some kind of image that your mind is creating. It's finally happened. You've finally lost the plot. Odd, you think, that it's taken this long for it to happen, after everything you've been through.

Or maybe, you think, as he raises an eyebrow and watches you for a reaction, maybe you're dying. Maybe he's come back to claim you, to take you up to heaven -- although part of you would be surprised to find out that he went there at all. It could just be the form that whatever angel assigned to you has taken, one that you'll be happy to see.

"You right there, Darlin'?" He asks. "Look like you seen a ghost." A slight pause and he laughs at himself a little. "'Spose ya' kinda' are."

Second by second, he seems less like an apparition and more like an actual, physical form in front of you. Back from the dead, more than a memory.

"Jesse?"

It's a blur what happens next. Your ears go fuzzy, as does your vision. It's soon apparent that you're crying. All you can really do is sink to the floor and cry, but he's already by you, all but catching you in his arms, on the floor with you, holding you. He strokes your hair the way he used to, trying to calm you, but it only serves to make you cry more. He pulls you gently to your feet after a while, and you realise you're shaking as he leads you to a seat, sitting you down.

* * *

After much sobbing and consoling, you return to the bar and inform the barman that your special client will be requiring your services all day. At first he seems a little surprised, but as soon as you show him the money that Jesse has given you to purchase a bottle of top-shelf whisky with, all questions are answered.

When you return, you begin to pour, sitting down as you do so. "Sorry," you laugh, unable to stop smiling. "'Fraid this is... hard t'... believe."

"Can't say I blame ya'," Jesse replies with a smile of his own, watching as you don't even wait for him to pick up his own drink before downing yours. You aren't a big drinker, and you never drink when you're working -- but if you've ever needed stiff drink it's today. "'Spose ya' got questions."

You nod, pouring another glass for yourself. "And I got time."

He exhales, taking a sip and leaning back into his seat. "Don't reckon' I gotta tell ya' that th' train job went bad," he begins. "Carriage went up, blew m' arm right off, thought I was a goner."

"I know," you say. "They found your arm. Mailed the ring t' me." You pause, looking him up and down for some kind of explanation. He gives a singular nod and his left arm emerges from beneath the serape he wears, shining in the dim lights of the private room.

"Fancy, ain't it?" He says as he flexes the fingers, twisting and bending the wrist of the metal arm. You've seen things like it before, sure. Mechanical limbs definitely have a place in Deadlock territory given how many people are shot on a daily basis. But this one is special. It's much more advanced than anything you've ever seen with your own eyes. "Overwatch fixed me up real good. Prolly' better than th' real thing, I reckon'."

"Overwatch?" You're unsure what he means by this. Overwatch were the people who took out the train job in the first place. They killed him. Or, well, you thought they had until this morning.

He nods. "Yep. Overwatch. One of their people picked me up outta' th' wreck. Woke up on th' Watchpoint." There's a slight pause. "Saved my life." He frowns for a moment, shaking his head and continuing his story, setting the glass down. "They gave me two options. Said I could join 'em fer a five year minimum or go t' prison."

You take a moment, waiting for a punchline, but it's not there. Instead you're met with a familiar look of guilt that you never thought you'd see again. "...You joined Overwatch?" You ask, wracked with disbelief.

"Can't say I was too keen on the alternative," Jesse admits, a smile suddenly rising. "Did some real good," he recalls. "I mean some _real_  good. Not like ya' political types out this way. I mean we got out there, got our hands dirty, fixed things up properly, ya' know?" He glances at you and the excitement in his tone vanishes. "...'Spose I should apologise fer never gettin' in touch." He pauses, giving an exhale. "Was parta' some special black ops division. Real secret stuff, ya' know. Reyes woulda' never allowed it. Safer for ya' anyway." You want to press this, you want to tell him that you'd already lived dangerously with him for once, anyway, but he speaks first. "And anyway, thought I was doin' ya' a favour. Figured I was lettin' ya move on t' somethin' better than what we had."

"Jesse," you blurt, shaking your head, memories of _that_  fight flooding back, washing over you. "I know I said some things, but I was angry, and I didn't mean it. All I wanted was fer' ya' t' come back."

He shakes his head, scratching at his beard. "Nah, wasn't just th' fight we had," he says with an exhale. "Gettin' so close t' the pearly gates really puts a perspective on it and..." he shrugs. "I was just a bad husband to ya'," he admits. "I was young n' dumb 'bout it." Jesse takes a case of cigarillos from his pocket, flipping it open and glancing up to you. "When I started lookin' fer' ya', I thought I'd find ya' remarried or somethin'. Maybe even workin' fer Deadlock. But... this?" He looks around to illustrate his point, before popping a cigarillo between his lips. Without realising it, though, you reach out and take his lighter from the table, lighting it for him. He locks eyes with you and you realise that it's something you've done entirely out of habit. "Been at it for a while, then?"

You give a nod, lowering the lighter once the cigarillo is lit. "Yeah," you admit. "Few years after ya' died." A pause. "Or. Well. After ya' left, I guess."

"And I'm gonna assume that ya' ain't jus' lightin' cigars an' sellin' whisky."

You don't respond verbally right away, instead looking away, giving a silent nod before finding the courage to use your words. "Hadta' make ends meet."

"What about all our savings?" He asks. "Didn't ya' inherit any of m' estate?"

You shake your head. "Feds took it. Called it 'profits of crime.'"

He frowns. "Whatta' 'bout ya' job?" He asks. "Bein' a midwife?"

"Combination of things," you explain. "Ended up goin' t' court on charges of bein' an accessory, 'cause I didn't try n' stop ya' at any point." You pause. "Reckon' they just wanted someone t' blame. I got off on the condition they seized whatever else they could to pay my fine... but that ruined my reputation. I mean," you say with a shrug, "was bad 'nuff havin' the whole town find out 'bout ya'. But once they all decided I'd been helpin' ya'? No one wanted me deliverin' their babies anymore." You shake your head. "Little Justice pretty much collapsed after that, anyway. Hear it's a ghost town now."

"Jesus," he says under his breath, shaking his head. "Darlin', I'm so sorry... I really thought ya'd do better off. If I'd had any inklin' that--"

"It really ain't that bad," you cut in. "I've come t' enjoy it, actually." He raises an eyebrow at you, but you continue. "I get to decide all m' own hours. I can call it a day whenever I please. I don't haveta' stay with no-one unless I feel like it n' I ain't got no boss to answer to but me." A pause. "And I'm makin' a lot more money than a lotta' folk 'round here. I get t' live mighty comfortably. Never gotta' worry bout where my next meal's comin' from, always got a roof over m' head n' my savings are lookin' mighty healthy. ...And it ain't ever borin', that's for sure."

"Don't it bother ya'?" He asks.

"What?" You laugh, taking your turn to recline a little. "Y' mean th' men?" You give a casual shrug. "'Spose it did at first," you recall, thinking back to your first couple of clients. "But I hadta' survive somehow. It ain't that bad, though. They're usually done in a couplea' minutes and..." You trail off, reading his expression. "It ain't the same, if that's what ya' askin'," you assure him. "I don't think much of it." Despite your assurances, you can see he's uncomfortable. Maybe a time will come where you can start to unpack this, but today isn't the day for that. Not when he's just come back from the dead. "Tell me 'bout Overwatch," you say. "I see 'em in the papers sometimes. I mean, never saw you. Usually that blonde fella'."

His eyes flicker back to you, almost as though you've broken him out of some kind of depressive spell. "That's Jack," he says. "One of th' bosses."

"Seems like a real hero."

"Yeah, 'spose so if ya' talkin' 'bout th' easy stuff." Jesse pauses suddenly, frowning to himself. "Gotta' stop sayin' that," he corrects under his breath before coming back again. "Jack's kinda' like... the face o' everythin'," he explains. "But he ain't the sole leader. There's Reyes as well, only you won't see him in the papers on accounta' him bein' in charge of Blackwatch." A pause. "That's what I was in. Kinda' like their secret missions. Stuff they didn't wanna' publicly talk about."

You raise an eyebrow. "What kinda' stuff?" You ask.

Jesse shrugs. "Stuff borderin' on illegal," he explains. "Infiltratin' corporation buildings, espionage, blackmail... y'know. Messy stuff. Stuff that gotta' be done but no one wants t' own up to. Reyes had a real knack for it. Reckon' that he enjoyed it sometimes..." he glances aside for a moment. "He's th' one who wanted me on the team th' most. Used t' take me along when he had t' do th' really rough stuff." You open your mouth to ask, but he gets in first. "Did a lotta' stuff I ain't proud of fer' the greater good with them. It's different out there. They're at war. Only reason the war ain't come here is 'cause of them laws 'bout AI n' whatnot. Nothin' round here t' fight." He chuckles, shrugging. "Guess they weren't so dumb after all."

You take a moment to study him. He's thinking, but not speaking, sitting on something more to this story. "Why're ya' here, then?" You ask. "Why ain't ya' with Overwatch?"

He shifts, head tilting from side to side, stretching his neck. "Politics." He says flatly.

"Oh." Chewing on your lip, you look down at your hands, trying to think of something else to say. He's only this blunt when he doesn't want to elaborate.

"That and I missed ya'," he adds, a tilt to his voice, a playfulness.

"You been gone for years, Jesse."

"True," he nods. "But only 'cause I thought ya' hated me. If I'd had any idea..." he trails off, a flash of something in his eyes before he collects himself again. It's so quick that you might have missed it had you already not been observing him the way you are. "Reyes reckoned my death certificate had been signed," he says. "That true?"

You nod. "Yeah. Signed it not long afterwards."

He exhales, his back straightening, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "'Spose we ain't married anymore then, huh?"

"'Spose not," you agree. "Woulda' absolved the marriage." It suddenly dawns on you what he's _actually_  asking you, the question laying beneath the surface. "Ya' don't gotta' stay here, if that's what ya' askin'," you say, looking him in the eye. He's changed, but so have you. You know how to hold your own now, how to be firm, how to stay yourself on a rock when there's a storm about to unfold around you. "You ain't got no obligation t' hang 'round me. I understand."

Looking away, you wait in silence, bracing yourself for it. Some kind of false refusal or offer of pity. Money, gifts, a way out. Maybe he'll just say goodbye and leave -- it's been years, and as much as you'd like to tell yourself that you still know Jesse, you're probably wrong. "On the contrary," he says before something takes your hand. It's his. "Was hopin', maybe, that we could..." you look up, his gaze catching yours. Your heart is racing. Oh god. It's been years. "Was hopin' ya' might let me back into ya' life. Even a little." He gives a gentle squeeze. "Missed ya'. Missed ya' somethin' fierce, Darlin'."

What happens next could be described as either an accident or as a complete lack of self control, depending on who you consult. You don't leap into bed with Jesse, but after hours of talking and reminiscing and tracing back over old memories and feelings you still manage to find yourself there. The sex is the kind you've longed for ever since he's been gone, the kind that you haven't had since. It's a kind where you're drawn to each other like powerful magnets are in the very core of the both of you, where everything just fits together perfectly and not a single word has to be spoken, the kind where just looking into the other's eyes is enough to send you over the edge. The world doesn't exist outside of your room, and time has seemingly stopped while you stay with what was, until now, a distant memory.

And as the day goes on, it looks less and less like an accident and more like a complete collapse of discipline. Once is an accident. The more it happens, the more new things you learn about each other -- how much harder he can grab you with his new hand, how much stronger your legs are now, how good this new, scruffy beard feels against your neck, how much he loves how your hips have widened over the years. Saying his name and hearing him say yours is like a piece of heaven, like an oasis in the middle of a desert that you didn't even know you'd been wandering.

You lay against his chest, the orange light of the setting sun managing to bleed its way through the drapes of your room. He's changed so much, and yet he's still all the same. He's bigger. Much more harder muscle now, even a little bit of extra padding around his midsection -- not that you'd say anything, knowing how fragile his ego can be, even if you're quite fond of it.  
His body is littered with scars. The most obvious is the scarring on his left hand side. Most of it has healed, but it's visible, and you can tell it's from burns. Maybe from the train job. The rest are a mix of minor cuts, scrapes and even what seem to bullet woulds. That wouldn't surprise you, though, and some are ones that you recognise from when you were still together.

It hits you how young you were, even though you felt like adults back then. You thought, at the time, that you were entirely worldly and mature, that there was no more growing to do. But now you lay there, both naked, both older, wiser and hardened by an extended period spent in the harsher realities of the world. He is absolutely a man now, any inkling of youth reduced to the occasional spark in his eye, or a snort in his laughter. You wonder if he feels the same about you. You wonder if he's as fond of how you've aged.

"When're y' leavin'?" You ask, as though to deliberately undo everything you've managed to build over the day. The suddenness surprises even you, but you suppose you have to protect yourself from the inevitable somehow.

"Leavin'?" He asks. "What makes ya' think I got any intention?"

You shift, tilting your head up to watch his expression. He's genuinely confused that you'd ask such a thing. "Figured ya'd wanna' move on eventually."

He shrugs beneath you. "Maybe. But not unless ya' came with me."

"Jesse," you say, sitting up, resting your weight on one arm, your eyebrows knitting together a little. "Ya' gotta' understand. This is all I know now. I mean, I'm good at it. Real good."

"Yes you are," he laughs, smirking.

You roll your eyes and gently push at his ribs. "Jesse, I'm tryna' be serious here," you warn. "Doesn't this... bother you?" You ask.

He raises an eyebrow. "Why would it?" He asks.

"Because I've..." you pause, inhaling and thinking of the right words. "Because I've been with more men than I can count, Jesse," you say. "And I ain't exactly ashamed of it. I hadta' make a livin', after all. But... I ain't just for you anymore." You pause. "...Wouldn't fault ya' for havin' a problem with that, honestly."

Jesse watches you for a moment before reaching out, gesturing for you to lay back down with him. "Come 'ere," he says softly, waiting for you to return to him, your head beside his on the pillow as you nestle against him. "Darlin', somethin' 'bout life out here prepares us for when things get hard and we gotta' protect what matters t' us -- should it be someone we care 'bout, our way of life or even ourselves." He pauses as you adjust your position a little. "In Blackwatch? I did a lotta' things I ain't proud of. Killed a lotta' people just fer' bein' in the wrong place at the wrong time. Lied t' people, kidnapped people... even had t' torture some." He pauses, exhaling, aware of the weight of his words. "Had ta'. Lives depended on it. Think a lotta' people out there don't get that the whole 'ethical code' thing is a lil' bit of a luxury sometimes. Not like us. We understand."

"Jesse..." he plants a kiss on your brow, stopping you. He's not finished.

"Now, I ain't gonna pretend that I like th' idea of anyone touchin' ya' but me," he explains, "but I ain't gonna' let it overshadow who ya' are. You were in a bad spot and ya' got yourself out. If anything, I'm proud of ya'. Ain't easy t' fight the dirty parts of this world with more dirt and still manage t' come out on top." He smiles gently, his eyes flickering away for a moment, like he's reminiscing. "Usedta' struggle with it myself. It ain't really comparable, but for a while I'd struggle when we had t' do the gritty stuff, like hittin' someone until answers fell outta' 'em. Reyes always seemed surprised by it, reckoned I should know better than anyone how it worked when so much was on th' line. He usedta' say this thing 'bout fightin' fire with fire. Ya' know Shakespeare?"

You shrug. "I know him, yeah, but I ain't exactly forkin' out t' go t' a play."

He smiles at this. "Well, Reyes usedta' quote this one line. 'These violent delights have violent ends,' he'd say. Means that..." he thinks about it for a moment. "Well, th' way he used it, it meant that things that rushin' into things or takin' th' easy way in will end with as much of a bang as it started with. Like the train job," he explains. "I rushed into it, didn't think it through. Almost died. Sometimes you're the start, sometimes you're the end, sometimes you're both. And when I was in Blackwatch? I was usually th' end... and someone gotta be the violent end..." He shakes his head. "Ya' get what I mean, though, right? Well, I reckon in this case? You're at the end. And it ain't th' worst way t' be." He exhales. "I ain't makin' a lick of sense, am I?"

"Nah, reckon' I get it," you say. "Sometimes you gotta' be a consequence for someone else."

He smiles, a warm laugh. "Reckon' if someone was gonna understand my jammerin', it'll be you."

You raise an eyebrow. "So you think I'm a consequence for what you've done?" You ask.

"Maybe." He gives another exhale. "Like God's way of punishin' me for what I've done. My point is, though, y' made th' best of it, and I ain't rushin' outta' here and makin' another mistake."

Jesse does stay, although you don't doubt for a second that he means it. The next three days is spent together. You stop working for the time being and if you aren't holed up in your room, you're making plans on where to go next, how to move on. All kinds of plans are on the table -- a new ranch, a nice home, a business, even mercenary work. All options. All things you have time to plan out now. You're just happy to have him back.

And then, one day, you wake up early and he's gone.

You don't see him or hear from him again until years later, when he walks into a saloon in Sweet Water, two friends in tow, and you slap him in the face.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys I am SO SORRY about the delay with this chapter. I've been slammed with work this month. Amazing how no one wanted to hang out with me or hire me for freelance work in December but come January I'm suddenly the most in demand woman since Elsa dolls during Christmas 2014. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks so much for your comments and support! Next chapter is a VERY BIG ONE.  
> Remember to follow me on twitter for updates on chapters (in case of delays etc)  
> twitter.com/elizabethdanger


	22. The Grand Duel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: Violence, cursing in Spanish, slutshaming

Dawn.

There's silence on the dropship, although everyone is up and ready. As the door lowers and you wait behind Hanzo, no one dare speak a word. The air is heavy. Dense. Grim. It almost feels like a funeral march.

The door lowers and Hanzo takes a breath before he turns to you. "Are you sure?" He asks you. You don't respond verbally, settling for a nod instead. And so, without another word, you both leave in silence. You're unsure if Hanzo refuses to say any parting words to the others out of pride or out of mercy for them. They all seemed so on edge as you walked past them.

Once you get far enough from the dropship, he turns his head again to address you. "If anything is suspicious, you are to run," he all but orders you. "I can hold my own. This will have been for nothing if you are hurt."

"Thought you was doin' this for Jesse."

"Yes," he says with a nod as you approach the main strip of the town, where a notable crowd is already gathered. "And if anything happens to you, Jesse will either kill me or get himself killed attempting to find revenge." You nod, unable to really fault him on that. It's exactly what Jesse will do, but you stop yourself from pointing out that he'll do the same if anything happens to Hanzo. Nothing will, though. You know that much for sure.

The townspeople murmur quietly as you make your way down the main strip, huddling to each side of the road behind various balconies and in front of stores. You've seen a shootout before, and you know nothing gets a town to come together than the prospect of watching one in the flesh. Wicker is waiting for you, her arms crossed, a smirk on her face. "Well," she laughs, tilting her head, arms dropping, one coming to rest on her hip as you both approach. "Thought I said you weren't to bring anyone, Sushi Cupid."

Hanzo opens his mouth to argue, but you cut in. "I ain't with Overwatch," you say. "I'm just a civilian, here t' see her man win a duel."

There's a murmur from the onlookers at this, your confidence stirring a reaction in them. Wicker raises an eyebrow and looks you up and down. She's sizing you up. "I'll tell you what," she says with a smirk. "I'll allow this, but only because I'm about to kill your boyfriend and I know everyone getting a good look at you now will be good for business later." She shoots Hanzo a quick glance, searching for a reaction. "Who knows? Maybe I'll have a turn, help you break out of mourning a little faster."

You can see Hanzo's arm tense as he gives a little grunt under his breath, and reach out to gently place your hand on his shoulder. "Hanzo," you whisper. It's all you need to say. He collects himself.

"Let's get this over with," she announces, shooting Hanzo a wink. "Ten paces. You know the drill."

Hanzo's gaze catches yours, and for a moment you feel it in the pit of your stomach -- fear. It doesn't last, though. You flex your leg in order to kiss Hanzo and remember that everything will be ok. He gives you a solemn nod before you step away, joining the townspeople to the side, but not getting comfortable.

Hanzo has been in duels before. Not like this, though. These are the kinds he's only seen in cowboy movies, the kind that Jesse has bragged about nonstop to the point that Hanzo had started to doubt they ever actually existed. The kinds of duels that Hanzo has participated in have been more strategic. Games of cat and mouse with bows, reflex and cunning with a sword in his youth.

They both turn their backs. A man begins to count their paces out loud. "One, two, three..."

He's going to kill Wicker. He knows it to be true because it's his only option other than dying by her hand, which isn't something he will allow. Not when he has so much more to do, when he has so much to solve and fix and work through.

"Four, five, six, seven..."

Genji will need him. He would never admit it to Hanzo, and Hanzo not dare bring it up, but he will need his older brother eventually, despite his protests. After all, had Genji not already come to him for help, even after what he'd done? They need eachother, really. There must be two dragons for there to be balance.

"Eight, nine, ten!" There's a silence. Jesse has run him through this. Any moment, the man will call for them to begin to count. And then it's just the two of them until he calls for them to draw. "Count!"

One... two... three...

His bow is in one hand, arrow in the other, separate for now. He won't bring them together until the call for draw. He will do this honourably or he won't do it at all.

Four...

He's not sure if thinking about her standing there and watching this is a good idea. He's trying to not think about her in that dress. If he does die today, at least he will be able to do so thinking of her in a way that brings him great joy and even distraction.

Five...

His son. Joji. He can be a better father than he has been, he knows it, and in this moment it seems so clear to him. Genji has always told him this, but Hanzo has never believed it. But if he can stand here and put his life on the line for his friend, he can be a better father to Joji. When he makes it out of here, he will start. But first he must remove Wicker's presence from the same world that his son occupies. He will do this for Joji, like he should have been doing everything from the very start.

Six...

Jesse seemed confident in him. Jesse is never confident about _anyone_  other than himself when it comes to gunfights. He has to do this for Jesse. The one who insisted on his friendship, even when Hanzo did all he could to push him away and be solitary, the one who took to his differences and faults like a duck to water. The one who would gladly take a bullet for him -- and has, on several occasions, even when not entirely necessary for him to do so. The one who brought her into his life...

Seven...

 _Her._  Sometimes, when they talk, Hanzo feels like everything is finally in place. As though there was something missing from a room or a line missing from a song, like he'd never known there was anything missing until she first started cursing at his best friend. She's rough, brash and stubborn, but when she's with him there's softness and warmth and a fire that he can tell is one he only gets to see. At first, Hanzo thought he was foolish to feel so strongly about a woman so quickly, but it felt so natural that the guilt just didn't stay. He wonders if, perhaps, he should have told her that he loves her. Maybe, for once, the situation doesn't call for caution. His grip tightens on his bow. Another reason to emerge victorious.

Eight--

The gunshot rings through the air with a crack and Hanzo tenses his entire body. He will die now, yes, but at what cost to Wicker? She has come here for her honor, but she has fired early and besmirched herself. He had a feeling this would be how it came to pass. He will die, but it is still a victory. He squeezes his eyes closed and...

Nothing happens. There's no pain. He feels nothing. The townspeople are screaming and crying out and stepping back, yet Hanzo feels _n_ _othing._  Something has happened. He's not hit at all. He turns to survey what's going on, bow and arrow still in his hands, ready in case this is all part of some game that Wicker is playing.

He freezes, jaw tensing, unsure how to proceed.

It's you. You stand, arm still reached out, your back to him. Wicker's body is a crumpled heap on the ground. Lifeless. There's blood everywhere, splatters of skull, skin and brain sprayed out over the dirt road. "These violent delights have violent ends," you say aloud, your voice low, breathy, as though you've had a sudden realisation that you're in awe of. Or maybe, perhaps, it's a vision that terrifies you. It matters little.

Hanzo immediately makes his way to you, placing his arrow back in his quiver before using his free hand to grip your shoulder and turn you around to face him. At first, you're afraid of his reaction. You haven't really planned this far ahead, because your only real objective was to kill Wicker before she can hurt anyone you love. If he's angry with you, though, it will all have been worth it. You must be a sight to behold. You're covered in a spray of Wicker's blood, the skirt of your sundress caught on the thigh holster you'd discretely worn off the dropship this morning.

Hanzo is silent, looking you up and down, his eyes wide. You expect him to shout at you, to chide you for getting in the way and preventing him from keeping his word. Instead, though, he's looking for answers, and when he lifts your hand and sees it gripping Peacekeeper, he finds one of them. "You..."

"I ain't sorry," you cut in, your voice shaking almost as much as you are. "She woulda' killed you, and if she didn't, someone from Talon would have." You pause. "Ain't no honor to be had out here, Hanzo."

Before he can argue, the sound of an engine roars through the main strip and the townspeople cry out in surprise. Something launches over you, air whipping past you as you look up. Whatever it is lands on top of the nearby bank building, bright pink and firing off at something in the distance. It's enough to make Hanzo grab you by the arm. "Quickly!" He shouts, pulling you into a run for cover in a nearby general store as the townspeople begin to scramble.

He leads you behind a counter, both of you sinking down to the floor for cover. "Comms," he says, reaching into his pocket and handing you a small earpiece, before repeating the process and putting on his own. "What is the meaning of this?!" He asks, seeming somewhat offended.

You follow suit, switching it on just in time to hear Fareeha all but shout into the line. "We received some intelligence," she explains, the sounds of gunfire in the background. "Talon were planning an attack as soon as you two had finished playing your games."

"Intelligence?" Hanzo asks, readying his bow and arrow.

"Athena isn't able to parse the source," Ana's voice speaks, "but evidently it was correct. Just in time, too."

The sound of an explosion causes more people to cry out and flee past the building you're hiding in, the walls shaking. "What's the game plan?" Hana asks over the channel.

"Force Talon into a retreat, protect civilians," Ana lists off. There's a pause followed by a very, very loud boom. She's fired at something. "Hanzo? Get the girl back to the dropship. It's--" she cuts off for a moment, murmuring something in Arabic, her rifle firing, sounding like a tree branch snapping, "It's going to be Gerard's wife all over again if we don't get her out of here."

He nods. "I had already planned to do so."

"Pharah?" Ana calls over the comms. Pharah? They must be using code names now. "Get the civilians to shelter."

"Understood." Fareeha gives a grunt and there's the sound of an explosion over the comms.

It's all a great deal to process. You look to Hanzo, who is rolling his head from side to side, ready to strike at a moment's notice, everything about him on edge, preparing for a fight. Your gaze catches his. "Are you ok?" He asks, his voice low. You nod in silence, opening the chamber of Peacekeeper and dropping another bullet inside to fill the empty space. "Did Jesse give you that?" He asks.

"Yeah," you flip it shut. "He was lookin' for some poetic justice, I think."

Hanzo rolls his eyes and shakes his head, and although he attempts to hide it, there's a tiny smile in the corner of his mouth. "That idiot."

The comms give a hiss, Hana's voice emitting through the white noise surrounding her. "Spotted Reaper!" She shouts, the sound of mechanical whirring feeding in alongside her voice. "He's heading for Hanzo. Someone intercept! I'm---" there's a loud crashing noise. "Ohohoh," she laughs. "They think they can Zerg-rush _me_?" More gunfire. "Top kek, losers! Top kek!" You have no idea what any of this means, but you can tell that it's some kind of battle cry.

Hanzo grabs you by the arm again, pulling you to your feet and leading you out the back door in a sprint. "We're going to need backup!" He barks into the commline, turning sharply, the both of you running between two buildings. He suddenly releases you, firing his bow and hitting a Talon operative -- one you hadn't even noticed -- square in the chest. "We are overrun!"

"Backup won't arrive in time," Ana responds. "Get the girl to the ship and we can evacuate!"

Another line opens. "The sniper is covering Reaper." It's Genji. "I will engage her. Hanzo, take cover until then. He is looking for you."

Hanzo gives a nod, looking around and spotting a cellar door behind what looks to be the town saloon. "This way," he says, making his way to the door and opening it. "Unlocked," he muses. "We may not be the first ones to come through here."

He steps down, gesturing for you to follow with a tilt of his head, carefully descending down the steps into the cellar. It wasn't that long ago that Hanzo was helping you escape one of these back in Sweet Water. When you finally situate yourself inside, you don't find anyone else, but Hanzo doesn't falter for a moment. "Wait here," he whispers. "I will check the entrance."  
You oblige him, waiting, Peacekeeper ready, entirely on edge as Hanzo rounds a corner and creeps up the steps. For a few moments it seems like it's clear, like this will be a fine hiding place. But then you hear it. Gunshots. Shouting. Your comms open again, and Hanzo shouts your name. "They're here! Go! The way we came in! I can hold them off, get back to the ship!" You want to argue, but within moments the shouts are joined by loud, mechanical stomping sounds. Hana has arrived. Hanzo will be safe. You have to run before someone else finds you.

You sprint to the cellar door, but as soon as the light of the sun outside touches your face, you're stared down by four Talon operatives, their guns all aimed at you, ready to fire. You consider trying to shoot them, maybe you can copy Jesse. No. You aren't Jesse. You're not a bad shot, but you aren't Deadeye, and the attempt alone would be reason enough for them to return fire.

You raise your hands, all of them shouting into their comms -- you don't make out exactly what they're shouting, though. You're too busy thinking. Can you escape? Will they kill you now or when they get you away? Will they just do to you what they did to Amelie?

And then it happens -- one by one they cry out and collapse. One tries to fire before his demise, but something goes wrong with his gun and it merely lets off a solitary click before he drops with his comrades. Once again, you're covered in someone else's blood. But it wasn't your work this time. Someone else stands behind them, someone you've never seen before.

She raises a finger as if to gesture for you to wait before lifting her hand to her ear. "Yeah, I got her," she says with an almost dismissive and impatient tone, glancing to you to roll her eyes. It almost seems friendly, but the automatic in her other hand urges you to not leap to any conclusions. "You two just worry about keeping her friends busy, I'll get her back to our ship before they even notice she's not where they left her." There's a pause. "I know, I know, I'm the best, _no hay bronca_ , I know." She says this glancing at you, rolling her eyes once more and shaking her head as though sharing a joke with you.

She removes her hand from her ear, but you speak first, backing up a little. "I'd rather die than turn into one o' you," you warn. She raises an eyebrow at you. "I mean it. I won't let ya' do t' me what you did t' Amelie."

"Amelie?" She asks. But before long it clicks, and she gives a snort. "Oh! _Amelie!_ " She laughs and shakes her head. "Eh." She shrugs. "Gabe seems to think that'd work out, and while I think you'd look good in black..." she looks you up and down, assessing you. "I'm gonna be honest, _Zorra,_  I didn't think you were worth the trouble until this morning. Good job taking out _la vieja_  before, by the way. Never liked her." She shrugs. "But no, I'm not gonna' make you join the family today."

"But..." you raise an eyebrow. "You just said--"

"I was _lying,_ " she groans. "Your file said you were smart, _Zorra._ " She scoffs and tilts her head towards the cellar door entrance. "Let's get you back to that dropship before our friend kills me." You stare at her blankly and she gives an exasperated sigh. " _Híjole,_ " she sighs. "You gotta be kidding me." The woman closes her eyes, collecting herself before beginning again, her voice dramatically calm. "I am an old friend of your ex boyfriend," she explains, "and I am going to take you back to the dropship without anyone noticing us because I'm a big softie." She throws her hands up. "There. _Bueno?_ "  
You open your mouth to argue but before you know it she has you by the hand. "Get ready to leg it," she warns. Still holding on to you, she throws something into the cellar before there's a high-pitched whine and... you feel cold. Off.

She pulls you with her as she breaks into a sprint, both of you leaving the cellar. You tense up as a group of Talon operatives round the corner, expecting conflict -- but they run past you as if you aren't there. "How come they ain't--"

"They can't see us," she replies, her voice noticeably low as you both continue your run through the down, dodging the attackers and even passing Genji at one point. "But it'll run out soon. Faster," she orders. Not wanting to be shot, you oblige, running for your life.

"How'd you know 'bout my file?" You ask her, suddenly inspired as you pass through the town gates.

She mutters something that you can't hear over an explosion in the distance before raising her voice again. "Because I've read it. I've read _all of them._  C'mon, _Zorra,_  it's not rocket science. When I say McCree is a _friend,_  I mean it." You come to a stop, the drop ship in the distance a the outer-limits of the town. "I like to have friends in not-so-friendly places." There's a suggestive smile on her face as she says this, something clicking in your mind and putting it together. She's his 'friend.' The one who sent the files. You have no idea what to say. Should you thank her? Ask her more? But once again, she gets in first, cutting you off. Part of you thinks she knows you have questions that she has no intention of answering. "I gotta go, but I trust you won't tell anyone else about this." She pauses. "But tell _him,_  of course. It's always good to know when Joel owes me a favour."

"Joel?" You ask, completely confused at this stage. "What?"

"He'll know what I mean." The woman gives a smirk before raising her free hand to her ear again. "I got bad news, Gabe," she says into her comms, her tone changing -- although it still contains that dismissive quality, as though she doesn't take anything about this job or situation seriously. "The little _puta_  got away-- oh, so _now_  we gotta' use 'respectful language' when talking about the target? _¿Estás enamorado de ella ahora?_ " A pause. " _¿Se molesta el mono de rendición? ...No me importa!_ " She releases your hand, and suddenly the coolness is gone and you can fully feel the sun on your skin. You must be visible again. You can't see her anymore, but you can still hear her, her voice a whisper, sharp, tense. "Run," she warns, followed by a high pitched beep and a short flash of light.

Is she gone? You have no idea, but you don't want to stay around to question it, running in a full sprint to the dropship. "I'm almost there!" You call over the comms. "Open th' dropship!"

"How did you get there?!" Hanzo shouts. "When did you--"

Another voice chimes in over the line. "I'm on it!" It's Jesse. The door of the dropship begins to fold out as you close in on it. "Angie's ready for everyone and th' dropship is ready for takeoff. Reckon' it's time for us t' split, Captain Amari." There's a cockiness to his voice. "Reckon' I've had enough nostalgia for th' time bein'."

"Good," Ana says over the line, pausing as the crack of a sniper rifle rings out. "Everyone pull back and get to the dropship for an evac!"

The dropship ramp hits the ground and you can see Jesse waiting, calling so someone else in the ship. You've made it. Your legs are tired, your lungs ache, your mouth is dry and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears -- but you did it. You saved Hanzo and stopped Wicker and made it back alive. Thank god. It was all worth it.

The air is suddenly pushed out of your lungs.

You're already on the ground by the time your brain fully processes what just happened. A loud crack ringing through the air akin to the crack of thunder, something hitting you with such force that you were thrown forward and sideways before you actually felt your body scraping along the ground -- these things all catch up with you like sound trying to catch up with an out-of-sync film.

You can't really move. Well, your legs move by instinct, like you're trying to crawl away, but your limbs are shaking too much. Not even shaking. Trembling. There's a fire roaring through you, a heat through your entire body. The ground is red and your vision is darkening the same way it does if you take a bath that's too hot or sit up too quickly. It's like there's cotton wool in your ears. There's a cacophony of loud noises, yes, but you can't tell which is which, and although you know that you're hurt, it all feels surprisingly calm despite your confusion. Something tells you to get your face out of the dirt. There it is -- that survival instinct, although a little too late.

Rolling on to your back you can feel the blood covering your body. It's surprisingly cold, really. You can see Hana's mech in the distance, firing at something. Someone is flying, their armour looks like an eagle in the sunlight. Genji is beside you suddenly. He's asking you something. You can't respond. It's like you're locked up. All you can do is look around and listen to the sounds of your own breathing.

These violent delights have violent ends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wew. I am so sorry about my Spanish it's shit I know and I'm so sorry but I did my best.  
> Anyway, can't wait for the next chapter. IT'S ALL FINALLY HAPPENING.  
> Thanks again for the comments. You guys got so into the last chapter and I fucking loved it and it made this one a fucking thrill and a half to write. I fucking love you and I'm so glad that people are getting something out of this.
> 
> Follow me on twitter for chapter updates etc: twitter.com/elizabethdanger


	23. Death Rides a Horse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: Surgery, blood, needles, medical stuff, ANGRY COWBOY SWEARING, mild political and ethical discourse, passive aggressive mercy *ohhhhhh*

_Patient sustained sniper wound to right shoulder on field._  
_Entry point - back of acromion and upper humerus joint._  
_Exit point - front of upper humerus joint._

_Patient presented to DR ANGELA ZIEGLER by field operatives GENJI SHIMADA and JESSE MCCREE. Patient in nervous shock and verbally non-responsive on arrival, although conscious._

_Patient admitted to DROPSHIP GLACIALIS - MEDBAY 1._

_Skeletal, muscular, nerve and tissue damage to shoulder joint and upper arm irreparable. Blood loss too great to attempt treatment using Caduceus staff method, further delay under circumstances may have resulted in loss of life. Emergency transhumeral amputation of right arm beginning at AC joint undertaken._

_Patient stabilised following completion of emergency amputation, vitals stable for duration of field team return to base. Patient immediately transferred to Watchpoint med lab._

_Patient admitted to WATCHPOINT GIBRALTAR - MEDICAL LAB_

_Further surgery undertaken by DR ANGELA ZIEGLER, attended by SATYA VASWANI and WINSTON. Nerve activity in remaining shoulder joint restored to 96%. Joint primed for prosthetic fitting in future. Patient's blood pressure dropped substantially immediately following surgery, suspected reaction to general anaesthesia. Full blood test undertaken immediately due to lack of recorded medical history. Currently awaiting full reading._

 

Jesse reads over the file that Angela has been kind enough to send him a copy of. It's not much -- the rest is confidential -- but it's enough to give him peace of mind. She's going to survive and Hanzo isn't going to murder him in his sleep. He considers visiting his friend, but knows better than to poke the dragon right now. Last he saw him, Hanzo was asleep in the seat outside the med lab, too stubborn to go and sleep in his own bed. He's absolutely in love with her, poor guy, although Jesse has to admit to himself that he's half tempted to do the same thing.

Instead, he finds himself pocketing his phone and wandering into Angela's office, knocking on the door a few times until he can hear an exhausted "Yes?" He opens it, peeking in to make sure there isn't anything incredibly serious and sensitive happening before he steps in.

"Wanted t' check in," he says, closing the door behind him. It's been roughly a day since they arrived back on base, and although he knows Angela has been given time to rest, he can tell she hasn't used that time to its potential. "See how ya' pulled up after all that."

She shakes her head, not looking away from her terminal. "I am fine, thank you," she replies, her voice a little cold. He can't decipher if this is because she's tired or if she's finally decided to address the elephant in the room. "Jack has been looking for you. You should go and see him."

"Right," Jesse gives a nod, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms. His shoulder's still a little sore, but given the situation? It's nothing worth complaining about. Not right now. "Y' don't _l_ _ook_ fine, Angie."

"It's Angela," she corrects him. "Your _wife_ is okay, by the way," she snaps, continuing to type. "Not entirely stable, but she will survive. I'm sure she will be touched by your concern."

" _Ex_ -wife. And don't be like this, c'mon." He gives an exhale and runs his hand through his hair. "I wanted t' tell ya'. I really did, but--"

He stops in his tracks when she ceases typing, swinging her chair to face him, a bubbling and subtle anger in her eyes. "And when have you ever denied yourself of something that you want?" She asks, crossing her arms and watching him expectantly. He has no idea how to respond to this, and she can see it. "The obvious issue of infidelity aside? You have put me in an incredibly shameful position. I am just lucky that she knows you as well as I do."

"You talked?" He asks.

"Of course we did, Jesse." She sounds disappointed as she says this, shaking her head and turning back to her computer. "Go and see Jack. Her blood test results just came back and I need to concentrate. If we can't figure out why her blood pressure was dropping, we might not..." Her eyes glance over the screen, and suddenly she frowns, a little bit of surprise in the way she leans back from the screen. "...Oh my," she says under her breath before typing frantically. She's paying Jesse absolutely zero attention now, and he can take a hint.

He leaves her office, hands in his pockets and guilt clouding over him as he makes his way to the Command wing. Jesse knew she'd be mad with him, and he certainly knows that he deserves it, but something about her coldness shakes him. It was a coldness that he's never experienced from Angela, one that he can tell came from a very personal place within her. Getting anything that personal from Angela is a rarity. Even at her most relaxed, there is always some level of professionalism, a thin shroud she still filters everything through. If he's hurt her on this level, he's not sure if there's anything he can do to fix this one. After she'd just forgiven him for the mix-up about his meetings in Dorado, too. Or, at least, the few secret hook-ups after the recall _felt_ like a level of forgiveness. He's not sure anymore. Maybe she really did just need to let off steam.

He wonders if she'd even believe him if he came clean about Dorado, if he told her the girl he'd been 'seeing' was actually his 'friend' from Talon. The same 'friend' who forwarded him the files Reyes kept, the 'friend' who tipped everyone off about the attack only a day earlier. He can't tell her, though. He can't tell anyone signed to Overwatch, not at the risk of Sombra being compromised should politics rip the team apart again.

Jesse finds himself at Jack's door, deciding to open it rather than knock. He rarely offers Jack such gestures, part of him still harbouring a little anger at the commander for letting things get the way they did before. Also because he secretly hopes that one day he'll walk in on Jack looking at weird porn or something. Both funny _and_ humanising. "Ya' wanted t' see me?" He asks, his way of announcing himself on entry, 76 looking up from his desk.

Jack merely nods at first, tilting his head toward the seat on the other side of his desk. For a guy with a big fancy office, McCree thinks as he takes a seat, Jack doesn't really know what to do with it. One end of his desk is all but covered in files and papers. The walls are bare, there's dust on some of the shelving and a very stained coffee cup on top of a filing cabinet. Trust Jack to prefer things on paper. In his defence, though, he's rarely in here, usually choosing to run from the tactical centre.

"Need to talk to you," he begins. "The mission."

Jesse exhales and leans back into the seat, sprawling into it. He's been expecting this. "Fair 'nuff," he says. "Go on, then. Throw the book at me, I know I reacted poorly." Jesse pauses. "...I still maintain that it was an entirely natural reaction' given th' situation, though."

"What situation?" Jack asks.

"Finding Shimada in a tent with my--"

"I'm not here for that," Jack cuts in, not a hint of sarcasm or anything to it. Dry as bone. To Jesse's surprise, he genuinely doesn't care about it. Right now, anyway. "Amari dealt with it. Not my concern." He reaches to a folder on top of one of the piles, taking it and flopping it on the desk in front of him. "My concern is what we're going to do about your wife."

Jesse smiles, a little relieved, unable to help himself. "That all?" He asks. "Jesus, Morrison, y' had me thinkin' I'd be livin' on field rations for th' next six months." He pauses. "Ex-wife, by the way. We ain't been married fer years."

"That's the thing," Jack says, opening the file. "You're still married."

"Nah," Jesse says, shaking his head. "When you guys faked my death, she signed a death certificate. That voids the marriage--"

"It doesn't." Jack pauses, giving Jesse time to restrain his casual bravado. "Winston looked into it. Legally speaking, you being recorded as alive at all after the fact means that any death certificate is voided. That means your marriage is still valid."

There's a long, hard silence after this. Jesse spends a lot of it staring at Jack, his mouth agape, waiting for a punch line or for Hana to jump out from behind something with a camera. Nothing like that happens though, and it dawns on him that this is legitimate. "...Well. Shit."

Jack merely gives a little grunt, looking over the file for a second before speaking again. "Winston has some concerns about her," he explains. "We need a game plan, and you're not only her next of kin, but you're also the person who knows her best."

"What kinda concerns?" Jesse asks cautiously.

"Initially he had some suspicions about her being a spy for Talon," Jack begins, needing to pause when Jesse gives an audible scoff. "When you passed on the leaked files about her, things turned from 'suspicion' to 'legitimate concern' that she could be a sleeper agent. We wanna run some more tests. Find out if they've reconditioned her."

Jesse blinks. "Ya' mean like Amelie?"

Nodding, he flips a page in the file. "You haven't made contact with her in years. They turned Amelie in the space of a few months. That's more than enough time for Reyes to have programmed her, maybe even implant false memories."

"You implyin' she might be Talon and not even know?" McCree asks, a hint of outrage in his voice.

Jack merely nods. "It's a possibility, and as much as you and Shimada trust her, it's one we can't rule out until we've looked into it." He holds off on a second, anticipating some kind of outburst or argument from Jesse. It never eventuates. "Winston has ordered some more tests. Blood tests, psych evaluations, observation -- nothing overly strenuous. But we need to discuss what we'll do in the event of..." Jack trails off. He knows he doesn't need to finish this sentence.

"We fix it," Jesse replies as though it's obvious. "We find a way to undo it."

"That might not be a possibility."

Jesse shrugs. "Well, ya' can't send her t' prison if she's a sleeper agent. Those are valuable. Talon'd just..." Jesse falls silent. He knows exactly what Jack is hinting at. "...We ain't doin' that."

Giving a heavy sigh, Jack closes the file. "If Winston's right, we won't have a choice."

"I ain't doin' it."

"Which is why I'm asking you," Jack insists, a growl to his voice. He's going to push this. "As her husband, what would be preferable in that situation?"

Jesse can feel his body tensing. He doesn't want to discuss this. Hell, he doesn't even want to think about this, let alone right now. "Not killin' her is what's fuckin' preferable, Jack!" He snaps.

"I get that you're close--"

"Close?" Jesse repeats, trying his best to contain his anger, although he's somewhat failing to do so. "I grew up with that woman! I've known her longer than I've known any of you bastards and I'd _still_ take a bullet for any of ya'." He pauses. "Although maybe not Winston, after this. What the hell makes ya' think I'm gonna help ya' plan out her execution?"

The sound that Jack makes in response is definitely a frustrated growl. "If it turns out she's a sleeper agent, it means that she isn't the same person, McCree," he insists. "The same as Amelie. This is something you need to consider and you need to do it now." He pauses. "Not just for you. For Shimada."

"I ain't making this call," Jesse insists. "Anyway, reckon' once I tell her 'bout it, we'll go get a divorce soon as she can sign her name again."

"And you want to force that decision onto Shimada?" Jack asks.

Jesse falls silent for a moment. "...Fuckin' low blow, Morrison."

"You're only reacting like this because you're aware it's a possibility. I'm being realistic. "

"You're bein' a fuckin' asshole, that's what you're bein'." With that, Jesse stands up, shaking his head and leaving the room in silence.

* * *

Hanzo doesn't really know what to say. He has ideas, options, but he can't settle on one. It's probably but that he says nothing, really. You're staring forward, as silent as he is, groggy from the mix of painkillers and mild tranquillisers they gave you when you realised your entire arm was gone. You were horrified. No one in the lab could calm you down. The tranquillisers have forced you to process it instead of hiding behind confused crying.

Jesse hasn't visited yet, and you have a vague idea why that might be. First of all, Jesse has never really been good with seeing people he cares about in physical pain. It's not an unusual trait to have, honestly, and you know that the sight of you isn't exactly pleasant. You've caught your reflection a few times when using the ward's bathroom. The obvious uncomfortable aspect of your current state is that you're missing your entire right arm and most of your shoulder, very little of the joint remaining.  
The way it's bandaged makes it look almost like there was nothing there to begin with. Apparently someone's already working on a prosthetic for you... but it's.... it won't be the same. It's a lot to unpack and you're unsure if you want to just yet. At times, you forget it's gone, and the realisation that you haven't scratched at your nose because you don't have a right hand to do it with causes you to re-discover it. All over again.

There are other aspects to your appearance which are unsettling, though. Your eyes are dark and sunken, making it look as though you haven't slept for months. Your skin is sickly, pale, dry from all the drugs they've been pumping through you, from all the blood you lost before they could perform a transfusion. There are stitches in the left side of your swollen bottom lip, a remnant from the way your face must have hit the ground when you were shot. Your cheekbone is grazed and red. Your neck is bruised black, blue and purple as a result of the trauma to your shoulder.

Secondly, though, and just as likely: Jesse is probably avoiding what Hanzo might have to say to him right now. Hanzo hasn't said anything yet, but you know him well enough to know that he's probably holding Jesse somewhat responsible for this right now. It will fade, of course, but it will need some time.

The doors open, and for a split second you expect to see him, smirking, making a friendly joke to try and break the tension. But it's not him. Of course it's not. It's Angela, wheeling in trolley of medical equipment, a soft smile on her face as she comes to your bedside. "How are you feeling?" She asks, her tone noticeably gentle. "Any pain?"

You shift in the bed uncomfortably. "A little, yeah." Your throat is dry and causes your voice to crack. You haven't been allowed to have any water yet in case you need more surgery. Everything is being administered via IV.

She taps on the screen of the datapad in her hand, reading over it, nodding a few times. "You've definitely improved," she observes. "And your blood pressure looks much better. I think, perhaps, we can move you on to something a little stronger now." Angela looks up from the data pad. "Where is the pain?"

"My shoulder," you reply. "Er. That... area, I guess."

"Sharp?" She asks.

You slowly shake your head. "Nah. An ache."

Angela gives a nod, tapping something into the datapad. "I see. And anything else?" She asks. "Any headaches? Nausea? Trouble staying awake?"

You shake your head again, but Hanzo suddenly clears his throat, breaking his self imposed silence. "She has been feeling unwell."

"Unwell?" The doctor raises her eyebrow, glancing from Hanzo to yourself. "As though you may be sick?" She waits for you to nod your head, and for a second she frowns. It's momentary, though, and she soon inputs some more notes into the datapad as she speaks. "You've been given a great deal of medication," she explains. "Nausea is to be somewhat expected. Not to worry," she says with a smile, tapping something else on the datapad with a flourish. "10mg of Metoclopramide should fix that." The small machine that is hooked up to the IV tubes running into your cannula gives a short beep. In more positive circumstances, you'd probably be fascinated by the fact your medication is administered entirely by a machine. "Let me know if it persists," she says.

Angela sets down the datapad on the trolley, readying something. A quick glance shows you it's a needle. "What's that for?" You ask.

"Just getting another blood sample," she replies.

You raise an eyebrow. "...Somethin' wrong with the first one ya' took?" You ask.

She turns to you, the tourniquet in hand, and you notice something peculiar about her expression. Her mouth is tight, almost scrunched up. She's chewing the inside of her cheek. "No," she replies as she secures the tourniquet around your arm, pausing to pull it tight. "Everything makes sense, but it is always important to eliminate any chance of error." She flicks at the skin in the crook of your elbow, looking for a vein, before pausing and looking to you, smiling gently again. "I would just like to be sure."

Angela reaches to the table and you quickly look away. It's not that you're afraid of needles or anything, but the actual sight of having your blood drawn still makes you a little woozy at the best of times. You glance to Hanzo, who offers you a smile of encouragement, reaching out and placing his hand on your knee and squeezing it through the blankets. It dawns on you that he's doing this because you don't have another hand for him to hold anymore. Christ.

A quick pinch and it's over. "You should be fine to eat and drink again once the Metoclopramide starts working," she says, taping a cotton-bud to the site of the needle. She releases the tourniquet, dropping it on the trolley before writing something on the vial of blood's label. "Any requests?"

"Nah," you shake your head, watching as Angela disposes of the needle in a little yellow bin on the side of the trolley's tray.

"Satya is currently drafting up a prosthetic for you," she continues, inputting something else into the data pad, "but I imagine she'll have design questions for you, so expect a visit." There's pause and Angela glances up from the datapad momentarily, giving you a look. "...She is..." she tilts her head, searching for the right word. "Satya can sometimes be a little... cold." Satisfied with her choice, Angela sets the datapad down on the trolley. "Try to not read too much into it, I can assure you that she does care. In... her own way."

Hanzo raises his eyebrows in surprise. "I am surprised that you are even permitted to be on a first name basis with her, Doctor Ziegler."

Angela shrugs, beginning to pull the trolley out of the ward. "Many would say the same of you, Mr _Shimada._ "

Angela is, of course, right. Satya -- or, as she introduces herself, Symmetra -- drops in roughly fifteen minutes after Angela. It's a productive visit. She projects you a hologram of the design, explaining its features and often comparing it to her own prosthetic. When you'd imagined having a prosthetic arm, you'd pictured Jesse's. Functional, sturdy, but still a little bulky. The design that Symmetra is working on is incredibly different. It's streamlined and smooth in a way that makes it seem a little bit fashionable, even.

"Fully functional" is a phrase she keeps using, which is all you'd hoped for, but there'll be benefits. Your grip will be stronger, your hands steadier, the fingers will be interchangeable in the event of damage, meaning you won't need the entire arm serviced in the event of a broken finger. You can just swap in a new one. Interestingly, she also lists off ideas for 'modifications and upgrades.' Magnetised finger pads for better grip of surgical tools, an infra-red attachment for better precision, even a built in torch. She seems to be under the impression that you're some kind of doctor. You wonder what she's been told and how far it is from the truth, but you decide it's best to not correct her. Despite finding her abrasive at first, you come around to her. She's thorough and professional to a fault, and doesn't attempt small talk or push you to disclose how you're feeling. It's refreshing. Hanzo, however, seems on edge for the duration of her visit. You wonder if perhaps he's been on the receiving end of her ire.

Hanzo stays with you for a while after her visit, but eventually leaves to get some proper rest at your insistence. You can tell he's still biting back, that he still desperately wants to tell you off for killing Wicker like that, but he still hasn't said anything. You wonder how long he'll sit on it and let it stew.

You manage to drift off to sleep for a while, getting a small nap in now that you're relieved of your nausea. It's a light sleep, though, and every now and then a sound will wake you up. Someone walking past the ward, the beep of the little machine, a thump from somewhere else in the base will knock you back into a hazy half consciousness for a few moments. However, the sound of the door opening and closing is a signal that it's time to awaken properly, and the scent of something warm and delicious is enough incentive to at least try to be happy about it.

Jesse stands by the doorway, a bowl of something in his hands, a weak smile on his face that doesn't match the look in his eyes at all. Of course. This is the first time he's seen you since... it all happened. "Torb cooked up a stew," he says, approaching your bedside. "Angie figured somethin' hearty'd do ya' a worlda' good."

He sets the bowl down on the little table they provided you with, the kind that wheels under the bed and reaches over the bed. "Thanks." You give him a smile, the tug on your lip reminding you of the stitches, reminding you exactly how bad you must look right now. "You doin' ok?" You ask.

Jesse chuckles, moving the table so it's reaching over the bed and sitting in front of you, ready for you to eat. "Now here you are lookin' like you had a fist fight wit' the devil 'imself to stay in th' land of the livin', and ya' still askin' after my health." He shakes his head, setting down a spoon, careful to make sure it's sitting on the left hand side for you. "But I'm fine. Good as new. How 'bout you?"

"'Bout as good as I'm gonna get, I reckon'." You take the spoon in your hand, concentrating a little more than usual to get it to the bowl and retrieve a chunk of meat with it. It's not that it's as difficult as you assume things like writing will be, but that it seems a little foreign to you.

He watches as you have a mouthful, probably knowing as well as you do that even a single spoonful of it has made you feel incomparably better already. "I gotta' say, Darlin', ya' scared me a little out there." There's a pause and you glance to him, but he cracks a smile. "Thought ya' were gonna outdo me! You ain't even in Overwatch and ya' took out th' target and were gonna' get out without a scratch. Woulda' made me look like a rookie."

You can't help but laugh a little, and you realise it's the first time you've actually laughed since... since you got off the dropship to face Wicker. "How'd I ever manage without ya' dumb jokes?" You ask.

"Poorly, probably." He shrugs, shooting you a smirk. "Saw th' arm Symmetra's makin' ya'." There's a brief pause so he can snort. "She wasn't gonna' show me, but I guess I'm just too charmin', even for her."

"How long'd ya' nag her for?"

"Oh, I reckon an hour, maybe. Hour n' a half?"

You laugh again, spooning up more stew. You don't know who this 'Torb' is, but you make a note to thank them later. It's delicious. "Yeah, I saw it. Looks kinda' fancy. Too fancy, I reckon', given where..." you trail off, lowering the spoon back into the bowl, something dawning on you. "...I can't go back, can I?"

The smile vanishes from his face. "No," he replies. He falls silent for a moment, frowning, thinking something over, his lips pulled together tightly. "Darlin', I gotta give ya' some bad news." You watch him carefully, trying to guess ahead of time, but he gets in quick enough to stop you from speculating at all. "Command's gonna keep ya' here... and it's gonna' be a long time."

"I knew that," you dismiss. "Angela mentioned rehab and--"

"Longer than that," he cuts in. "They uh..." Jesse scratches his beard, trying to seek out a suitable phrasing. "They got some ideas, some theories, and they ain't good."

"What kinda' theories?" You ask.

He looks away for a moment, glancing to the door. "The kind that makes 'em think it ain't safe t' let ya' leave." Another pause. "Talon was definitely after ya', Darlin', we just gotta' be safe--"

"They think I'm like that sniper." The realisation hits you and spills out of your mouth, speaking over him. "Ya'll reckon' I'm dangerous."

"Now, hold on," he warns. "I don't. Hanzo doesn't, and I ain't spoken t' her 'bout it but I'd bet money that Angie doesn't either. They're just being cautious. They're gonna' run some tests is all. Just for some peace of mind. Only... it'll take time."

You think this over for a moment. Your feelings aside, it makes logical sense. They don't know you the same way Jesse and Hanzo do. But... "You don't think I'm... like her, do you?" You watch him carefully, reading every inch of his expression for any single beat of uncertainty, for any sign of hesitation.

To your relief, you don't see any of that. "No," he says. "I don't." You look back down the the stew, both of you sitting quietly for a moment as you stir it. "How'd ya' get t' the dropship so quick?" He asks.

You smile to yourself. "An ol' friend of yours helped me," you explain. "Who's Joel?"

He laughs, relaxing back into the chair, his arms crossed. "So ya' met her, then?" He asks. "Had a hunch. She's pretty good like that."

"How do ya' know her, anyway?" You ask.

"We go way back," he says. "Ran into her durin' an operation in Dorado. She was backed right into a corner by some gang we was in a fire fight with. She was runnin' with Los Muertos at the time, so my plan _was_ t' get her outta' there n' bring her back t' the Watchpoint for questioning. When she realised I wasn't gonna kill her, though..." he smirks a little. "Datachit she gave me had more info on it than anyone woulda' got outta interrogatin' her. Told everyone she was a civilian, let her go an' tracked her down a few days later, solo." He nods to himself. "Hard one t' figure out, sure, and she ain't playin' anyone's game but herself -- but she knows the difference 'tween good and bad better than anyone on Blackwatch did. Been tradin' info ever since."

There's a short wait while you enjoy another mouthful of the stew, savouring the flavor. "How'd ya' manage t' keep it secret, though?" You ask.

Jesse grins at this. "Didn't have t' do much. Was bein' real secret like 'bout visitin' Dorado whenever I got the chance. Reyes eventually thought he had it worked out, tracked me down one day. Problem was, though," he says, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees, "he had my priorities all wrong. Thought I was slippin' it to her. Word got out and... it was easier t' explain than the truth. Safer for her, too."

You blink. "She's the girl from Dorado?" You ask.

"...You know 'bout that?" He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't question it further. He doesn't seem to be surprised, really. "But yeah, that's her. Couldn't tell anyone th' truth. Woulda' been breakin' protocol on my end, and I was still doin' my minimum term at the time. And if Reyes or Morrison knew how much intel she had..." He trails off. He doesn't need to explain what would have happened to Sombra if either had found out. You can guess. "I mean, for th' most part it worked out jus' fine," he dismisses with a shrug. "Was more of a joke than anythin', really."

"Not t' Angela."

He visibly flinches when you say this, like you've jabbed him with a sharp barb or something. "Right. She said y' talked."

"Yeah," you admit. "She's real nice. Can see why ya' decided t'..." you stop yourself, realising what you're about to say. Not right now. "...I can see why ya' like her so much." You glance to him, aware of how uncomfortable he is. "It's ok. I know all 'bout it. No use gettin' mad over it now." You pause, idly stirring at your stew. "...All that aside, though? Reckon' you two'd be mighty good fer' eachother."

"'Scuse me?" Jesse's voice tilts upwards a little in suprise.

You shrug. "I'm jus' sayin'. You need someone t' pull ya' in line an' I reckon' she needs someone who can pull her outta' it. I mean," you smirk, "she's still miles outta' ya' league. But she might go blind one day. Ya' never know."

The two of you share a laugh, and for a moment you feel as though you're fine, as though none of this has happened. You spend the next few hours talking and joking, the stew giving you a replenished sense of yourself, Jesse managing to keep you entirely distracted. In the back of your mind, you decide you might have a word to Angela. Woman to woman. In the back of Jesse's mind, he decides it may be time to face the dragon. He also decides to hold off on telling you the _real_ reason he wanted to talk to you. It isn't the right time to discover that you're still his wife, he decides. Not yet. It can wait until you're in more stable and better spirits.

In her lab, Dr Angela Ziegler studies your blood test results. She takes a long, deep inhale of air and removes her hands from the keyboard, processing the information in silence. She thinks about her discovery, and wonders what the consequences will entail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. I'm a little drunk right now, gonna be real. Let's keep it short.  
> Thank you so much for all your comments on the last chapter. I was so terrified of how it was going to be received and it makes my heart sing to know that it was above *ok* and not awful. Also, I've had a few people ask and yes: please feel free to spruik this on tumblr/whatever you use, I only ask that you link to here and not copy/paste the whole fucking thing. I love meeting new overwatch fans and giving back to the community that has done so much for me in such a short time.  
> There's still a lot more coming (the next chapter will have a lot to do with Hanzo's perspective on everything) and some more revelations and yelling. Promise.  
> So yeah, thank you all for your support. Seriously. <3 
> 
> Follow me for updates and to yell at me: twitter.com/elizabethdanger


	24. I'll Sell My Skin Dearly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Medical stuff, [YELLING IN SHIMADA], [YELLING IN COWBOY]

"Pull ya' head outta' ya' ass an' jus' listen t' me fer five seconds, would ya'!?"

"Listen to you? After you deliberately ignored why it was so important to me?"

Jesse stands outside the door of your ward, visibly wincing at the shouting coming from inside. It's finally happen. Hanzo has finally snapped at you, and if Jesse knows you -- which he does -- you've snapped right back and the whole thing has escalated.

"She woulda' _killed_ you, Hanzo! It wasn't a fair fight! Why can't ya' just accept it?"

"It's not about that. You disobeyed me and--"

" _Disobeyed?!_ " Your voice noticeably rises in volume. "Honey, if you think that's how this is gonna' work, you are sorely mistaken! I ain't jus' gonna' stand by and behave like a good little lady--"

"That isn't what I meant. Stop twisting my intent!"

For a moment, Jesse considers turning around and coming back later. He puts his hands in his pocket. And weighs the pros and cons of coming back later.

"I know _exactly_ what ya' meant, Hanzo. I was married t' Jesse McCree, I can read between th' lines with the best of 'em."

"And yet you _still_ listened to him instead of me! You are just as bad as he is. Reckless and without thought to those around you!"

"You take that back!"

"I absolutely will not."

Nope. Jesse decides this is his cue to burst in and break the fight up. Partially because he wants to save himself a bruised ego that comes with hearing his own name tossed around as an insult, but also because he really, really has to tell you the truth before someone else does, like Jack or Winston -- then he'd _really_ be in trouble.

The two of you flinch a little when the door opens quickly with a thud, Jesse dramatically walking through. "Everythin' alright?" he asks. "Reckon' I heard my name just then."

You roll your eyes, frustrated, Jesse being one of the last people you want to interrupt right now. "Jesse, this ain't th' time."

He glances between you and Hanzo, thumbs hooked into his belt loops. "I disagree. Reckon' my timin' was impeccable."

"This is _not_ the time, Jesse," Hanzo snaps. "We are having a very important discussion-"

"Lotta' shoutin' for a discussion with a lady in a hospital bed," he observes. He tilts his head towards the door. "I got some cold ones in m' room. Why don't ya' come with me? Give ya' both a chance t' cool down." There's a pause. "Reckon' it's a much more pleasant option than if Angie were t' come in here and find ya' squawkin' like this."

Hanzo crosses his arms and opens his mouth to argue, but you cut in. "Go," you snap. "I'm tired n' I wanna rest."

"But-"

"I ain't sayin' it again, Hanzo." Your voice is ominous, and as you lay back into your pillows you spot Jesse's eyes widening. At the very least, it's good to know you can still strike the fear of god into him somehow.

Hanzo gives a growl, rising from his seat and looking to Jesse, his jaw tensed. "Fine." He tilts his head to Jesse. "We also have matters to discuss." He storms out of the room, Jesse offering you an apologetic shrug before he turns to follow his friend. Hanzo makes his way directly to Jesse's room, entirely silent, visibly disgruntled, and once they reach the room is dawns on Jesse that he's not going to be much happier when he breaks the news to him.

Jesse closes the door for privacy, Hanzo taking a seat at his desk, already entirely familiar with his surroundings. "Said we got somethin' t' talk about," he reminds him, wondering if that's a good idea as he opens his little bar fridge. A gift from Lena and Hana for his birthday.

"Yes, we do." Hanzo's response is blunt as Jesse pops the cap off the beer bottle on the edge of the fridge door and hands it to his friend. "What could have possessed you to set her on that path?" He asks, his voice low and dark as Jesse opens his own beer, taking a seat on the edge of his bed.

"Y' mean the duel?" He asks. He shrugs, sipping from his drink and wiping his mouth casually. "She wanted my help, so I gave it to her."

Hanzo frowns, his eyes thinning into a glare. "There was good reason I didn't want her involved," he says. "I cannot believe you subverted me like this."

"Look, Shimada," he sighs, leaning forward. "If ya' haven't learned it already, that girl's stubborn as a mule when she sets her mind t' somethin'. She woulda' done somethin' anyway, least I could do was make her chances solid."

"I was dealing with the problem," Hanzo replies bluntly.

Jesse shrugs. "Well, I guess she decided she was gonna'."

"I would have won."

At this, Jesse throws his head back, giving a short laugh of disbelief. "Come off if, Shimada!" He shakes his head, looking his friend dead in the eye. "You know that if anyone believes in ya' abilities, it's me. But Wicker? That wasn't a fair fight and ya' know it."

Hanzo's jaw visibly tenses at this. "You do not know that."

"Yes I do." Jesse is a little exhausted by this. "Don't be like this, man. Everyone came home alive, we completed th' mission, it's all fine." He pauses. "I know ya' ego might be a little bruised but--"

"This is _not_ a matter of my pride," he snaps, his voice audibly rising.

"Then why's this an issue?" Jesse asks.

"You deliberately undermined me!" His anger is snowballing again, making Jesse wonder how desperate he's been to let this out. He's probably been sitting on it since it all happened. Can't be healthy.

Jesse, however, despite understanding Hanzo's situation, isn't one to take an argument laying down. Especially when the other party is wrong. "There was nothin' I coulda' done t' stop her, Hanzo! If I hadn'ta' given' her Peacekeeper, she woulda' done it with somethin' else! I know it n' you know it!"

"The weapon is inconsequential and you know it!" Hanzo sets his beer down on the desk with a thud. "You condoned it, Jesse! You encouraged her!"

"And what's th' problem?!" Jesse grips the neck of his own bottle, firing up as quickly as his friend. "Ya' didn't get ya' trophy kill, big fuckin' deal, Shimada! She saved ya' life and ya' yellin' at her in her hospital bed 'cause of ya' honour or whatever?!"

"For the final time, this isn't about my pride!"

"Then what's it 'bout, huh?! 'Cause for someone who ain't havin' a fuckin' tantrum over gettin' beaten out by a girl, ya' fuckin' actin' like it!"

"You put her in direct danger!" Hanzo roars, snapping, leaning forward, his arms tensing and ready for a physical fight. "She could have been killed, Jesse, or worse! What if Talon had managed to capture her?! What then!? And now she has lost her arm and can never go back home! You continually make poor choice after poor choice when she is concerned and I will not allow you to do so to her any longer!" He pauses for a beat. "Even if that means ending our friendship."

There's a long silence that follows this, Hanzo and Jesse both visibly backing down. Hanzo's words hurt, yes, but there's a bigger truth behind this. Jesse takes another swig of his beer before he speaks again, his voice quiet. "You really love her, 'ey?" Hanzo merely looks at him in surprise, his eyes a little wide, and Jesse shrugs in return. "I get it." Jesse gives a long sigh. "Yeah. I get it."

Hanzo audibly swallows, suddenly uneasy. "Jesse..."

"Nah," he assures him, shaking his head. "It's 'right. Figured it was gonna' happen." He gives a silent chuckle to himself. Putting her needs before his own. That was it. She did the same for him just by going out there and facing Wicker with Peacekeeper, after all. It was a matter of time. "I'm sorry," he finally relents. "I can't say I wouldn't do it again if she asked me," he adds, "but I'm sorry that I let her scare ya' like that."

Hanzo gives a long exhale, reaching out for his beer, shaking his head and looking away. "No," he finally says after a moment. "No, I... have taken my worries out on you," he says. "I have been... troubled. It is no excuse."

"It's been a rough couple'a days," Jesse says with a shrug, watching Hanzo neck down almost half of the beer in one go. Christ. He must really need that. Jesse it tempted to break out the whisky. "Don't think nothin' of it." He eyes Hanzo for a second. "Reckon' ya' should apologise t' her, though."

Hanzo nods. "Yes," he agrees. "Of course."

There's another silence between the two, although this one is less uncomfortable and more full of thought. Hanzo thinking about her, about the reality of how he feels. The big word. He's been in denial, he supposes. The whole concept is... intimidating to him, especially given that he's spent so long feeling unworthy of it. He still doesn't believe he is, if he's to be honest with himself. Even though she's openly told him, Hanzo still feels like her reasons for liking him are a mystery.

McCree, however, is trying to muster up the courage to get it over and done with. Rip it off, like a bandaid. "Shimada," he begins, "I gotta tell ya' somethin'... and ya' ain't gonna' like it much..."

* * *

When Jesse showed up to your ward with an icepack on his eye, you were horrified, of course. You couldn't wrap your head around it. If they'd argued about the duel and gotten into a fist fight -- which you were perfectly well aware was a possible outcome -- you'd expect Jesse to fight back, even a little. But Hanzo followed him into your ward without so much as a scratch.

When Jesse explained _why_ Hanzo punched him in the face, though, it entirely made sense.

"How long have ya' known 'bout this?!" You ask, your voice raised in both pitch and volume. You're panicking. This can't be true. You absolutely can't still be married to Jesse. This isn't happening.

"Only found out a coupla' days ago," he explains. "Trust me, Darlin', I'm just as surprised as you are." Shit. It _is_ happening.

You drop your arm, defeated, no idea how to even approach this. "Fuckin' hell," is all you can manage as you flop back into your pillows. "I just can't catch a break, can I?" You close your eyes, taking a deep breath to try and stay calm. "So what papers I gotta' sign?"

"Papers?" He asks.

"Divorce papers," you reply, opening your eyes. "We're gettin' a divorce, Jesse."

There's a pause, and Jesse glances to Hanzo, who is leaning with his back against the wall, his arms crossed. Although he isn't happy about this either, he seems much more composed than you are. "Well..." Jesse is uneasy, shifting in his seat. This isn't good. It's never good when someone with a silver tongue like Jesse is struggling to find the right worlds. "Ya' see, Darlin', maybe we shouldn't rush into that just yet."

You blink, stunned, glancing to Hanzo. He's not reacting at all. "You gotta' be kiddin' me."

"Now, before ya' go flyin' off th' handle," he says quickly, raising his palms, trying to defuse your temper, "there's some real good reasonin' here."

"It'd better be _real_ good, Jesse," you warn.

"It is," Hanzo suddenly exhales, his eyes still closed. Oh. That can't be good.

Jesse reaches up and scratches at his jaw. "Yer' gonna' need a lotta' help with that arm n' all," he explains, his words and tone delicate. "I know it seems like they're gonna' just slap that new thing onto ya' n' ya'll be good t' go, but take it from me when I say it ain't that easy. Ya' gotta go rehab, get used t' the phantom pains, get it tweaked and adjusted for th' first coupla' months... it's a lot. And if ya' immediate family of an operative..." he pauses, exhaling. "Overwatch'll cover it all. And ya'll be allowed ta' live here after they sort out everything else."

You sit on this for a second, processing it. You hate it when he's right, but in this case, Jesse is right. "...And you're okay with this?" You ask Hanzo.

He nods, finally opening his eyes to return your gaze. "We have discussed it in length, and I agree with Jesse that this would be the best option for your well-being. At least for now."

"It's just gonna' be on paper," Jesse assures you, speaking quickly, worried that you're thinking along those lines. "No one's gonna' make us bunk up or nothin'. You two'll be free t' go about ya' business. It just means you'll be looked after." He pauses for a moment, letting out a smirk. "I mean, I'm good fer' th' free medical care, at least."

You think this over. They're right in that practically, this is the best choice for you, but something... something doesn't sit right about it. You can't put your finger on it. It seems almost a betrayal, even though Hanzo is totally aware and agrees to it. Moreso, though, it feels like a step back. You've moved on. You've escaped that part of your life, you're free of that place he pushed you into during your youth and all of a sudden it feels like you're right back there, even though you know it's different. On paper or not, it still feels... suffocating. Like a defeat.

Still, despite your feelings on the past, it's undeniably a good deal. What would you do otherwise? Wait this all out, go somewhere else and try to work to pay for it? With a prosthetic arm you don't know how to use? What if Talon come for you? What if Hanzo can't see you anymore because he's too busy or it's unsafe? It strikes you a little how much the thought of being without him upsets you.

"...And it's just on paper?" You ask. "No one's gonna start callin' me Mrs McCree again?"

Jesse laughs at this, seeming visibly relieved, but the door opens before he can wisecrack in response. Angela stands in the doorway, a datapad in her hand, seeming a little surprised by the presence of Hanzo and McCreee. "Oh..." She quickly composes herself. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I..." A pause. She looks away for a second before clearing her throat. She seems uncomfortable -- probably because Jesse is in the room with you. "I have a few things to go over with our new friend. Perhaps you could come back later?" She offers you a gentle smile as she says this, almost as a reassurance.

Hanzo raises an eyebrow, pushing himself off the wall. "What is it?" He asks, the slightest hint of aggression in his voice -- although it's obvious he's more concerned than anything. "Is everything ok?"

Angela seems a little taken aback by this, and although you don't know her as well as the other two, it still seems a little off. She's always come across as much more composed than this. "Yes," she assures him, opening and holding the door open as a polite gesture for them to leave. "It's nothing life threatening, but it is confidential."

It's obvious that Hanzo wants to push it further, but before he can start, McCree rises from the chair and rests his hand on his friend's shoulder. "You'll let us know when she's good t' have visitors again, right?" He asks. Angela simply nods in response and Jesse gives Hanzo's shoulder a pat. "C'mon. Still got some beers in the fridge, n' I reckon' Reinhardt's gonna lose his mind if we don't tell him 'bout the mission soon." He guides Hanzo out of the room, offering Angela a polite nod. She closes the door in a way that seems... urgent.

"Everythin' alright?" You ask. "Ya' got me worried."

She takes a deep breath, giving a nod, avoiding eye contact with you and taking the seat beside your bed that was occupied by Jesse only moments ago. "There's something very important we need to discuss," she begins, swiping quickly at the screen of the datapad. "I have done... extensive study of your blood test results and I have found a..." she taps at the screen, clearing her throat. "Well, I found some... anomalies."

Your heart seems to stop, and then when it starts again it runs at full speed. "Anomalies?" You ask. "W-what... what kinda'... anomalies?" You're going to start shaking any moment. God, you hope it's not what you're thinking. You hope you're wrong. You hope that Jesse's bosses are wrong. And if you aren't? You hope that Angela is wrong.

"They are..." She's struggling to deliver this news. That's not a good sign. What are they going to do with you if you're Talon? Can they reprogram you? Is there medicine for that?

Maybe they won't even want to treat you for it. They're probably not going to trust you at all. Will Hanzo even trust you anymore? Of course he will. Jesse and Hanzo will have your back, surely. ...That's if they don't hide you away from them or something. Or worse.

She takes another slow breath before giving a nod, as if to signal something to herself. "Well, the first blood test I ran showed 47 mIU/ml of human chorionic gonadotropin, which was raised to 55 mIU/ml in the second test... Um," she looks up from her datapad, realising that you probably have no idea what that means. She's right. You don't. "You have elevated hCG levels," she explains. "Are you aware what that means?"

You shake your head, your eyes tearing up already. "I don't know..." You're terrified. You've never heard of that before. It must be what they used to change Amelie, the way Jesse told you. Oh no. They were right. You were planted here to hurt one of them. "I don't know what that is, no."

Angela sets down her datapad in her lap, closing her eyes, finding her center. "Human chorionic gonadotropin, or hCG," she explains, "is a hormone that occurs in the blood during pregnancy. You are pregnant."

Even though you're sure it's only a few moments that you're staring at her with wide eyes, it feels like time has entirely frozen until you finally laugh. "You're kiddin', right?"

To your absolute disbelief, Angela shakes her head. "No. I assure you, I am being completely serious." You begin to shake. "Now, I know this is a shock, and I suspect that you will need some time to fully process this, but it is important that I let you know there are options available to you." This is all so confusing. You don't even know how to describe your feelings right now. Scared? Upset? Excited? Cold? A little thirsty? "Obviously if you choose to proceed, we will provide you with the best care available, which is important given your age and current circumstances," she explains, "but if you would prefer to..." she pauses for a second, seeking the correct word. "There isn't a glamorous way to say this, but we can provide you with a termination if you wish." She winces a little as she finishes this sentence.

You open your mouth a few times to try and say something. Anything would be good honestly. "Could I... can I have... some time?" You ask.

"Of course," Angela says, giving a gentle nod and standing. "This must be so unexpected," she offers, "I cannot even begin to imagine what you must be feeling." She purses her lips a little as she reads your face. You aren't even sure what expression you're making, but it must be pretty bad for her to seem so upset. "If I can do anything or get you anything in the meantime, you only need to ask."

"You ain't gonna' tell anyone, are ya'?" You ask suddenly.

"Of course not," she replies. "This is absolutely confidential"

"Not even Hanzo?" You ask.

She gives you a gentle smile, although there's a sadness in her eyes. "Not even Hanzo."

You take a breath, nodding, looking ahead at the other side of the ward. "Angela?" You ask. "Can I ask ya' t' do me a favor and get someone for me?"

She nods quickly, an eagerness in her voice. "Of course."

"I need t' talk t' Ana."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one is short but I hate making everyone wait. OH BOY. DRAMU THO.  
> Just wanted to take this chance to let everyone know that I'm going to try and keep my updates to one a week, although I guess if I'm super inspired I'll pop out two every now and then. I'm a bit snowed in under work and stuff and I can't keep pulling all nighters anymore, for the sake of my health. (I say as I write this at 4.am.)  
> Once again, thank you for all your patience, kindness and support as well as your comments.
> 
> You can follow me on twitter at twitter.com/elizabethdanger  
> 


	25. Man of the Cursed Valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: More [shouting in cowboy,] discussion of abortions, manipulation talk, McCree thinking he's being passionate and daring when he's actually being a dick and invading someone's space/

There's several things Ana does to comfort someone in time of trouble, you learn. The first thing she does is make tea. She describes your current situation as a calling for a whole pot, and leaves your ward temporarily to seek one out. The teapot she returns with is beautiful, light blue with red filigree, cups to match, the handle of the pot visibly well-worn. You wonder how many hard times this teapot has gotten her through. You wonder how many people it's helped, and what kind of stories it's heard.

The second thing she does is sit beside you and rest her hand on your knee. Human physical contact is comforting, yes, but something about her touch is different. It's warmer, reassuring. It's a mother's touch. "What do you want to do?" She asks, setting her cup down on your little table, her voice managing to be both calm and firm. You need to make a plan. She knows it, you know it.

You shake your head. "I honestly don't know. I just... I don't know."

"Well," she begins, pursing her lips a little, tilting her head. "You're going to have to figure it out." She reaches forward, taking the string on her teabag and jiggling it a little in the water. You have your tea differently. Ana has hers black, two sugars, bag still in the cup. It seems to suit her personality, although you can't really describe how. "I assume you haven't told Hanzo."

"No." You wait a second to sip from your cup. "I don't wanna' upset him."

"Upset him?" She repeats? "He might be surprised, but I doubt he'll be _upset._ " She shrugs, lifting her teacup to her lips. "Perhaps if he took a little more care, he wouldn't be in this position for a second time."

Your eyes widen, watching as she drinks from her cup. "You know 'bout that?"

"Of course I do." Ana smirks a little, placing her teacup back onto the saucer with a clink, visibly relaxed. "I told you, my dear, I know everything." She watches you for a moment, then crosses one of her legs over the other. "You are much too concerned about what he thinks of this."

"He's the father," you reply. "'Course I'm worried 'bout it."

At this, she chuckles, shaking her head. "Sometimes I forget your history," she muses. "Jesse was the same when he first arrived. So much to learn..." She gives you a gentle smile. "You are the one who is pregnant, no? If you decide to have this child, you will have to carry it for nine months, give birth to it, raise it to adulthood. You are the one who will have to go into that operating room if you don't decide to go through with this." She shrugs. "I have always been of the opinion that the one who's body is doing all the work is the one who gets the final say. And honestly, I don't think Hanzo will expect any different."

You close your eyes, sinking back into the back of the hospital bed and letting out an exhausted groan. "Why now?" You ask. "Why's this gotta happen _now?_ "

"Because otherwise it would have been easy," she laughs, "and nothing easy is worth doing." She pauses. "Tell me -- do _you_ want a child?" She asks. "Forget Hanzo. Forget Overwatch. If you were back home and the circumstances were right, would you be happy?"

"I'd be lyin' if I said no," you reply, unsure as to how this relates. You're talking about the here and now. "I mean, you know how it was for us when I was with Jesse. Wanted one more than anythin'."

Ana gives a knowing smile. "Then I think, deep down, you know what you want to do." You look at her curiously, but she speaks before you can argue. "You are a very lucky woman. You have lost an arm, yes, and your future is uncertain, but you are in a place where you can change that. There are such options here for you, such possibilities. And as for raising a child here..." she smiles fondly. "Well, Fareeha grew up to be a wonderful woman, if I may say so myself."

"Is it hard?" You ask. "Raising a kid here? 'Round all this?"

"Raising a child is hard no matter where you decide to do it," she replies flatly. "There are definitely unique challenges here, I suppose. But there are also unique benefits." She shoots you a look. "Winston is, apparently, incredibly good with children." She follows this with a laugh. You've only really met him briefly, and it was... an experience. No one had actually _told_ you that he was a Gorilla, but he seemed nice enough. That was before you found out that he suspects you of being a Talon agent, however. "I think, though, that this is something you have wanted for a long time."

You sit in silence for a moment, processing it all. "...But Hanzo," you begin, "I mean. We only really been t'gether for so long, Ana. This is all happenin' so fast."

"So what?" Ana asks, shrugging dismissively. You only really catch it from the corner of your eye, but you could almost swear she rolled her eyes at your statement. "What is the worst that will happen? You break up?" She scoffs at the idea. "The difficulties of raising a child between two parents who aren't together are greatly exaggerated, given your personalities." She shakes her head. "I doubt that will happen, though. You already know what I think about you two and how in love you are."

"Love?" You blink a little, watching Ana carefully, as if waiting for something else to follow that word. It doesn't come. "Love is... that's a big word, I reckon'."

"And you are going to have to step up and admit it," Ana says casually. "And soon."

You shake your head. "I dunno if-"

"I don't understand your aversion," she cuts in. "There is nothing wrong with it. You have been through hell," she explains as she reaches out for her tea again. "And Hanzo has been there for you throughout. He loves you quite dearly."

"He does?" You watch her with wide eyes as she calmly drinks her tea. "He say that?"

Ana lowers her cup, shaking her head. "He doesn't have to."

"Then how do ya' know?"

She smiles, resting back into her chair, content on her face. Something about this conversation is giving her a lot of peace. "I _told_ you," she says. "I know everything."

* * *

 

Hanzo didn't like the way Ana sought him out and told him that you needed to see him. When he arrives at your ward, he doesn't like the tension in the air, either. Nor does he like how nervous you seem, how red your eyes are. "You have been crying," he observes, closing the door behind him.

"Hanzo, come n' sit with me."

He hesitates, glancing from you to the seat. "...What is wrong?" He asks. His voice has a panicked tilt to it. He's on guard.

You reach out and pat the arm rest of the chair beside your bed. "Come sit," you repeat.

"There is something wrong," he insists. "Is this about what I said--"

"Damnit, Hanzo," you interrupt, shaking your head. "Jus' let it go, alright? This is a little more important."

Reluctantly, he crosses the room, taking a seat, his eyes not leaving you once. His expression has changed, though. He's not expecting a fight or an argument anymore. The resistance is gone, replaced with worry. "What is it?" He asks, his voice audibly softer. "What did Doctor Ziegler say?"

You reach out, taking his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. You can already tell he's assuming the worst, bracing for incredibly bad news, and although you want to assume he's wrong, you're quite unsure if he'll take this the way you're hoping. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. You're going to do this. You have to do this, because you've made up your mind and you have to follow through. "I'm pregnant."

Hanzo, who has been bracing for bad news about your health, has been preemptively frowning. After a few seconds, though, the reality of what you've said hits him and his eyes suddenly widen -- and as inopportune a time as it is, you're very much reminded of how beautiful you find him. His mouth is agape for a few moments, silent as he stares at you. You see hints of different emotions in his eyes as he processes this. There's shock, concern, and maybe, for a split second, fear. Eventually, though, the expression you've been hoping to see reveals itself, a smile, one that it seems Hanzo himself wasn't entire expecting. "Really?" He asks. You nod, returning his smile with one of your own. However, his smile vanishes for a moment. "...And... you will be..."

"Oh, I'm havin' it," you assure him, realising that he seems to be holding your hand for dear life. "I reckon' it's 'bout time god gave me a reward for everythin' I've been through."

The smile returns, blossoming into a full grin before he releases a singular, surprised laugh. Without another word, he leans across, taking your face in his hands and kissing you. It's short, but it's enough to tell you what he feels. When the kiss breaks, he rests his brow against yours, smiling ear to ear, his hands still either side of your face. "This," he says, his voice carrying a tilt of excited laughter, "is the greatest news I have received in years."

"You ain't upset?" You ask. "I thought this might be a bit much--"

"Upset?" He asks. "No. Never." He pauses, releasing your face and quickly pecking the tip of your nose before pulling back ever so much, his hand finding yours again. Your fingers lace together. "Surprising, yes. But upsetting? I am having a child with the woman I love. There is nothing to be upset about!"

Although your first instinct is to make some kind of joke, you realise exactly what he's just said. Love. The word was there. Right there. He used it. He admitted it. "...I love you," you say, squeezing his hand, throwing all caution out the window. He loves you. There's not a fucking thing to lose anymore. "I know it's been fast and I know this is crazy, but--"

He interrupts you with another kiss. This one is slower, more intimate, lingering. Until now, you thought what he said might have been an accident, that it may go unnoticed. But this isn't a kiss you get from someone who doesn't realise the gravity of what they've said -- even if it was accidental. "At my age, doing what I do? Nothing is too fast for me anymore."

He stays with you the entire night, the only other person permitted to visit being Angela, who smiles sweetly when she sees how excited Hanzo is -- even if he tries to hide it for her. When it's time to sleep, she allows him to stay with you 'just this once,' and he squeezes into the bed beside you, allowing you to rest your head against his chest. You haven't realised how much you've needed this until now. You're drifting off when he whispers your name, checking to see if you're still awake. You open your eyes, listing your head up to see him.

He plants a kiss on your brow and pauses for a moment, watching you, his expression warm. "Marry me."

Your first instinct, of course, is to take this as a joke. But this is Hanzo. Hanzo never jokes about stuff like this. At least not when he's this happy and emotionally exhausted. It dawns on you that he means it, but the truly unsettling thing is that he might mean it. ...No. No, he can't mean it. Even Hanzo wouldn't think of this right now. You, getting married after all the trouble it's brought you? After your bad experiences, after finding out that Jesse is still technically your husband because neither of you thought to actually consult a lawyer? Funny joke. You smile and laugh a little, snuggling back into him. "Come back t' me when I ain't sleepy and ya' got a ring, buddy," you chuckle, before drifting back into sleep.

Hanzo frowns to himself, but only when he's entirely sure that you've drifted off. He closes his eyes, forcing himself to not take it personally. You're tired. He's tired. You both are, and he's let his feelings run away from him. You're absolutely right.

He makes a mental note to try and find time to source a ring for you.

* * *

 

"She's pregnant."

76 sits on the other side of his desk, staring down a completely shocked McCree, his arms crossed.

"That..." Jesse shakes his head, completely gobsmacked. "That ain't right. She woulda' told me. Surely."

"Angela only reported it this morning, _conveniently,_ " his senior replies flatly as he pushes forward your medical files. "Take a look for yourself if you want."

He eyes the files, but decides against delving in, although it's tempting. "Reckon' I can do without that," he says. "Why ya' tellin' me this?" He asks.

76 gives a short and sharp exhale. "Because it's not good, and I don't like it." He shifts in his seat a little, the leather of his jacket creaking with the movement. "Your wife infiltrates us, seduces Shimada and suddenly gets pregnant? It's suspicious."

"Or, maybe," Jesse argues, eyebrow raised, "fate brought her t' us and Hanzo took a likin' t' her. I got good taste, after all, can't say I blame him." Although guarded considerably, he can't help but deliver a smug grin.

"And I'm meant to believe Hanzo Shimada would accidentally get a woman pregnant on the field?" He asks. "That isn't like him."

Jesse looks away for a moment. "Seems t' me like ya' don't know him as well as ya' think ya' do, Jack," he mumbles, returning his voice to normal volume before 76 can get a word in. "You honestly think that this is all part of some kinda' Talon plan?"

"She's not terminating," he replies bluntly, not even bothering to skirt around Jesse's question but straight up ignore it. "I'm not going to tell you what to do, but she trusts you more than anyone else here. You might want to remind her that we'll be running some intensive testing on her."

He's absolutely speechless at this, his jaw hanging open. This is... unreal, even for Morrison, with all his PTSD and change in personality. "You can't be serious."

"If she's a sleeper agent, this will be valuable leverage for Talon to--"

"Can ya' just listen' t' ya'self for one second?!" Jesse barks over the top of him, rising from his seat, his jaw tensing, shaking his head in utter disbelief. "She ain't a fuckin' spy, Jack!"

76 growls. "We still can't be sure."

"Ok!" Jesse throws his arms up into a dramatic shrug. "Fine. Say she _is_ a spy! Say you and Winston are right and she's a sleeper agent. We just gonna' give up on her? Take her out?" He begins to pace, but 76 seems unphased.

"We do what's best for Overwatch."

"What if it was Amelie?" Jesse asks, suddenly stopping his pacing, looking directly at 76.

"What?"

"Would ya' have done this t' Amelie?" He repeats. "If you'd known. If you'd had the same fuckin' jack up ya' ass 'bout her bein' a sleeper agent -- would ya' have planned t' take her out?" He waits for a response. 76 says nothing. "Right. Didn't fuckin' think so."

His superior shifts in his seat again, although he seems somewhat more uncomfortable this time. "This is different, Jesse."

"How?" He asks. "How is this any different? She's still a human bein'. She still got a past and a brain and emotions, just like Amelie did. What, she don't get a fair go 'cause ya'll ain't old friends?" There's a pause. "You got any idea how long she wanted t' have kids? Even if she is a spy and we found some magical way t' cure her tomorrow of all that Talon brainwashin', she'd still want it. That ain't gonna' change and I ain't gonna take it away from her. Not after all the shit Overwatch put her through. Have some fuckin' ethics, man."

There's a silence, 76 taking a deep breath before responding. "I've seen a lot of good people taken down by people they thought they could trust," he explains, his words slow, his tone much less official than before. This isn't an order. It's an appeal. "It happened to Amari, it happened to Gerard, it happened to me. It can happen to anyone."

"I know," Jesse grunts. "Who do ya' think taught me how to find these relationships, pull 'em apart, manipulate 'em? Reyes taught me everythin' I know. But this ain't how ya' fight it." He shakes his head. "Be suspicious. Watch her. Monitor her, run ya' blood tests. But don't be that guy who violates her. Don't be the guy who ruins her life over a fuckin' theory. You ain't that."

Jesse turns to leave, but not before the man behind the desk can get another word in. "I'm not convinced."

"Don't give a shit," Jesse retorts as though it's nothing. "You or Winston lay a fuckin' finger on her without my permission and there'll be a world of trouble."

He leaves the room and makes a beeline for the medical wing. But not for your ward -- for Angela's office.

* * *

She's at her terminal when Jesse bursts into her office unannounced, without so much as a knock on the door. Angela is still completely unimpressed with him, and barely pays him any attention as he strides over to her. She has a good idea what this is about. "I'm telling you, Jesse," she exhales, "if I find anything that looks like--"

She's cut off when he all but pulls her up from her seat, his lips meeting hers, locking her into one of the roughest kisses she's ever experienced -- and she's been with him before. When he pulls away, she blinks, dumbfounded by what's happening. "I am selfish, unkind, arrogant, pig-headed and a right fuckin' asshole," he says, his tone low, an urgency to his words. "And I have wronged just about everyone I care 'bout in my life 'cause of it."

"Jesse," she says softly, but he raises his palm in a gesture for her to stop.

"I ain't finished," he cuts in. "All this that's happened?" He continues. "With Wicker and Hanzo and goin' back t' my hometown n' seein' her? I deserve all of it, every last bit, because I had so many good things in my life an' I squandered 'em. But you?" He asks. She realises he's worked up. His breathing is elevated. It's telling. "First time I seen you I thought you was an angel. An actual, honest t' god _angel._  And the night after I showed up for the recall? I know I kept tellin' ya' that we were just blowin' off steam but th' truth is that I ain't stopped thinkin' 'bout how you're an angel since."

"Jesse, please--"

"I've treated ya' atrociously," he continues on. "And ya' got every right t' be mad at me but I ain't gonna' throw this away 'cause I'm too damned proud t' admit---"

The door opens, a familiar voice interrupting. "Angela," the accented, augmented tone of Genji announces, "you will not believe what Hanzo asked me for advice with today. He..." McCree turns around, Genji trailing off when he notices him. "McCree!" He chimes, happy to see him. "How is your shoulder?"

McCree takes a tiny step away from Angela, who is visibly uncomfortable. "Fine," he replies, his voice flat. "I was just havin' a discussion--"

"What did he ask?" Angela asks over the top of Jesse. She's trying to kill the conversation.

"Oh," Genji laughs, either not reading the tone of the room or simply choosing to ignore it. "Well, this morning he asked if I have ever bought you jewellery from anywhere nearby, and when I told him that you don't wear any, he asked if I might know where to buy a nice ring."

"A ring?" She repeats. "Why would he..." her eyes widen. "Oh!" Angela gasps, her hand coming to her chest. "Oh my! Really? Do you think he will?"

Genji laughs, nodding his head. "My brother does not take anything lightly," he says.

McCree glances between the two, and although he knows he should be a little more focused on the whole Hanzo proposing thing, he finds himself more curious about why he would have asked Genji if he's every bought a ring for Angela. It doesn't take long for him to figure it out, however, and all he do is give a sharp inhale and feign a friendly surprise. "Sorry, but, uh," he chuckles, smiling at Genji, "did I misunderstand, or are you and Angie...?"

Genji quickly looks to Angela, as though seeking her approval, not responding until she gives a nod of approval. "Half a year," he replies, the surprise of that nearly knocking McCree to the floor. A few weeks? Sure. But half a year? How did they get away with that?! "Overwatch is both of our priorities, so we have been remaining discreet."

"No shit," McCree sighs, giving a nod. "Well, I guess I'd better go bail th' poor guy out," he announces. "Before he asks Hana for advice and ends up poppin' the question with an onion ring." McCree gives the two a courteous nod and leaves her office without another word, not a doubt in his mind that they're already discussing him, wondering if he's lost his mind.

He deserved that, too, honestly. He deserves absolutely everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is so short but, once again, I've been away and wanted to post a thing.  
> I'm so sorry I've been behind on updates. I was invited to the Book of Mormon opening in my country and it was a huge fuckin' deal and I was so busy juggling that and work and other projects that I just didn't get time to sit down and write. Thank you guys so much for your patience. Next chapter isn't far off, either, but I have to take a quick break and get some rest before I continue.
> 
> Thanks again so much for your support, I adore you and your words. <3  
> (Also, I've already got some plans for a sequel. It won't be about the same reader character, although it will be a reader POV again, but it'll be sent in the same universe and after the events of this one. It's going to be much kinder to poor old McCree. Even though he kind of imo deserves it because I did write him as a bit of a dick. But he's learning, I swear!)


	26. The Mercenary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: War. Bombs. Lies. Prosthesis. Drama. STRAYA.

You're finally allowed out of the medbay. Finally. Only during the day -- they still need you to sleep in there for 'observational reasons,' but they're letting you get up and walk around the Watchpoint. Walking with one less arm is... well, you had a rough idea before. You had to shower and get to the bathroom and back. But walking longer than the few steps those tasks took is eye opening. Your sense of balance is skewed, and you find yourself leaning against Hanzo for the majority of the walk. Not that you really mind.

You visit Symmetra in her lab. She shows you the progress on your arm. It's not far off completion, she says. There's only a few more tests to run, and then it'll just be a matter of scheduling the surgery to attach it and install the required sensory and nervous implants. She's unfazed by news of your pregnancy, simply updating her files as needed and assuring you that Angela will take it into account when administering the anesthetic dosage. You're sure this is her way of caring.

Hanzo shows you around the facility, letting you stretch your legs and meet some of the people who you've heard so much about. You walk through the gardens, running into Genji. who in turn introduces you Zenyatta. It's an odd experience. You've _seen_ Omnics before, but you've never actually spoken to one. He's kind, however, and offers to listen if you need to talk about what you've been through. You can't say you're surprised that he knows what's happened -- honestly, it's probably spread through the base like wildfire. But you can't help but wonder exactly how much of the detail has been retold.

No one really raises the taboo subjects though. Lena grins ear to ear, chirping praise of your assassination of Wicker. "Someone should 'ave just shot her in the 'ead years ago," she says, "woulda' saved us a whole lotta' trouble! Not to mention Jesse." You wonder if she knows the gritty details about your relationship with Talon. Probably not. No one does except for Jesse, although you're managing to bring Hanzo up to speed. Everyone knows that Hanzo and you got together during the mission, but you wonder if their opinions would be different if they knew the real story. The sneaking around, the secret keeping, the fist fights and what you did for a living until Jesse all but kidnapped you.

Reinhardt isn't restricted in his excitement when you finally meet. He all but snatches you from Hanzo's side, pulling you into a hug that you worry will hurt you until you realise his strength is incredibly controlled. "Ana has told me all about you!" He exclaims as he releases you. "It will be so good to have a child on the Watchpoint again! Reminds us what we're fighting for and keeps us from getting older. Some of my best memories are of Fareeha as a little one, stumbling around the halls one day, firing her first shot the next." He lets out a roar of a laugh, smacking Hanzo so hard on the back that he stumbles forward an entire step.

It's in the recreational area that you find Hana, still in her pyjamas at lunchtime, playing some kind of video game with Lucio, who she introduces to you as 'Nooblet.' Whatever that means. The small kitchen area attached to the space is bustling, Ana and Torbjorn chatting as he stirs at something on the stove. Hanzo tells you he loves to cook, and you make a point of thanking him for the stew he had Jesse bring you. "Coincidentally, I came up with me best recipes when me wife was pregnant. Too sick ta' cook fer' 'erself. Mornin' sickness. Horrible stuff!" Ana nods in agreement as he pauses to sniff at the soup, smiling contently to himself. "And we 'ave eight kids, so I've had plenty 'o practice!"

You all eat together -- those of you who aren't busy with some kind of work. Most at the table make an effort to talk to you, to include you in conversation. It seems a bit of an event, really, although given Hanzo's high spirits you can't help but wonder if they're celebrating more for him than you. Most barely know you, after all. Some are reserved. Satya visits, takes her bowl and immediately returns to her work station. Ana is quiet, more observing the chemistry on the table than anything, and Fareeha... well, she's not pretending. She either hasn't taken a liking to you or isn't as sociable as the others. You're fine with both, really. Not everyone has to like you. You're positive that the command portion of the team aren't your biggest fans. It doesn't matter. You aren't here for them.

"Have you guys seen what's happening in Australia?" Hana asks, swiping at her phone. You try your best to not marvel at the whole 'smart phone' thing. Hanzo's done his best to bring you up to speed on it, but it's still a culture shock. People can just 'Google' things and they'll appear.

Hanzo lifts his eyes up from his food. "I cannot say I have, no," he replies, a few others shaking their heads along with him, indicating that some are a little behind in the news.

She takes a quick swig of her drink before swiping her phone again, turning it to show the other half of the table what's on the screen. Footage of riots. Protests. Someone speaks on a podium -- a woman, slamming her fist as she shouts into a microphone. Her face is on banners and posters, people cheering for her. "Whole place is going crazy," she explains.

" _Australia?_ " Reinhardt asks, an eyebrow raised. "But they're always so relaxed."

"Or drunk," Torbjorn jokes, met with laughter from a few and a shake of Mercy's head.

"There are a lot of reasons," Mercy explains. She shifts in her seat, glancing to you as you silently take another bite of food. "The people have been unhappy with the current system of government for..." she shrugs, "hundreds of years, almost. I suppose some kind of revolt has been coming for a long time. I suppose it almost _did_ for a while -- I don't know if Roadhog has ever told any of you about his time in the Australian Liberation Front. This time, though, it's much more political. There is a lot of poverty now. Australia never undertook environmental protection protocols like a lot of places did, so there's a lot of barren land now..." She frowns. "I guess they just needed the right person to rise up. Now it looks as though they're not far off a military coo. It will be..." Angela pauses, watching Hana's phone, a video playing of someone throwing a brick through the window of Parliament. "...Interesting."

Lena crosses her arms and nods along. "Right. So that's the bird Winston got a call about, then? Hopper or... something or rather."

"We've received a call?" Angela asks.

"Yep," Lena replies. "Winston asked if I wanted t' go. But I just got back from that Dorado op and it's Emily's birthday." She shrugs. "Not really my cuppa' tea anyway, bodyguardin'. Put good money down you and McCree will get the job," she says, nodding to Hanzo.

"Actually," McCree announces from the doorway, a smirk on his face. He waits below the arch for everyone to pay him attention before finally approaching -- ever the drama queen, "just me."

Lena raises an eyebrow as Jesse takes a seat, shooting you and Hanzo a polite nod. " _Just_ you?" She asks. "Ain't she been shot at three times in th' last month?"

"You sayin' I ain't a good enough shot?"

"She's saying that she needs a security team," Ana interjects. "76 consulted me on it. She's a high profile political opponent of the Australian government. I don't think I need to tell you who's firing those bullets at her."

McCree stews in his seat for a moment, wanting to push his point, but knowing better than to argue with Ana -- who's most likely right. You're not sure. You can't say you know the situation too well. "Anyway," he finally exhales, "it ain't just me. I'm goin' over there t' meet up with Rat n' Hog."

Finally, Fareeha pipes up. "I knew there was a reason we hadn't seen them in a while," she chuckles.

"You think they're involved?" Hanzo asks.

"Oh, I know they are," Fareeha replies, her voice flat, as though this should be absolutely obvious.

Angela, however, is not having this. "Junkrat perhaps," she concedes, "but I do not think Roadhog would--"

"If there is money and chaos involved, they will be involved," Fareeha cuts in.

Angela visibly backs down, but Jesse seems unphased. He leans back into his chair and lets out a long exhale. "Well, guess I'll just have'ta' set 'em straight if we take up th' job. Morrison reckons there's a fair share of work t' do first. He wants t' send ya' in t' do some recon," he explains, nodding to Ana. "Mentioned Symmetra as well. Got a lotta' perimeters t' secure."

Hanzo chuckles. "It will be interesting to see you working on such a mission with her," he muses. "I look forward to it."

There's a pause, Jesse avoiding eye contact for a moment before he exhales. "Yeah," he mumbles. "I'll uh... Reckon' I'll talk t' ya' 'bout that later.'

* * *

"You did _what?_ " Hanzo asks, the three of you in his quarters. You sit on the bed beside Hanzo, who is visibly tensing, watching Jesse pull up the chair by the desk.

"I told Morrison not t' put ya' on the mission," he repeats.

Hanzo frowns, watching Jesse, not breaking eye contact, visibly confused by this. "Why?" He asks. "Jesse, this kind of mission is exactly--"

"Ya' got a kid on th' way," Jesse interrupts. It knocks the breath out of you a little, hearing him actually say it. "Australia ain't like 'Murica or Japan or Numbani, Shimada. It's... there's a lot goin' on. It ain't stable."

"I have been in warzones before," Hanzo argues. "I am capable. My situation changes little. I will not be distracted."

Rolling his eyes, Jesse exhales, reaching to scratch at his beard. "Ain't doin' it fer' _you,_ idiot," he says. "Doin' it for her." He nods to you, his focus changing. "You ain't just gotta' baby comin'," he explains. "Ya' gotta' arm t' 'ave fitted, rehab, Morrison n' Winston breathin' down ya' neck... ya' gonna need Shimada more than I am." He pauses. "This time, anyway."

You watch him, waiting for something. Waiting for some kind of catch or follow up. Nothing comes. "Jesse..." you speak, your voice quiet. "That's... well, I reckon' that's... one a' th' kindest things ya' ever done."

He shrugs. "Reckon' it's 'bout time I started steppin' up," he shrugs. "'Specially if ya' gonna' name 'im after me." He grins, shooting you a wink, entirely predicting the drop in Hanzo's expression.

"We will be naming the child-"

"It's okay," he assures Hanzo, glancing as you visibly stifle a laugh. "I understand. If it's a girl, feel free t' throw an 'i' in there, make it a lil' more feminine." He holds his grin, waiting for this to sink in until you eventually crack and shatter into giggles.

Glancing between the two of you, Hanzo exhales, reality dawning on him. "Very funny," he dismisses, shaking his head, already done with the joke at his expense as Jesse chuckles along.

From then on, the air seems to be cleared. Satya fits your arm after a few weeks. It's heavier than you expected, even though you'd been warned that it would be. It takes a while to adjust, but other than that? It's just like you'd never lost your arm, spare for the fact it's metal. Satya informs you that she can easily have a skin-like covering made for it, but you find yourself a little fond of it. Something about the sheen of the metallic, white covering, the gap in the joints... it makes you feel like you're a different person. You suppose you are now, really.

Although it's in a non-official capacity, you find yourself spending a lot of time in the medical lab with Angela, helping her mostly with smaller first aid tasks. At first, you thought she was giving you busy work to keep you occupied, but as time passes you realise you're enjoying it, that it gives you a sense of purpose on the Watchpoint. You offer a spare set of hands for scraped and stitches while she sees to the more seriously injured of the field team. You have a role. She assures you that when you're cleared by command, she can find an official position as a nurse, one that can even become a qualification. Although it's nice to think about, you decide to just take things one day at a time.

After a few months, and without any new word on Command's opinion of you, Hanzo asks you to have dinner with him. It's sweet, really. Even though you're confined to the Watchpoint, he still makes an effort to make it seem like... something special. You're both given the recreational area for the night, Hanzo cooking for you while you talk -- although he never specifically tells you exactly _why_ he's decided to do this. You figure he's probably worried you're going stir crazy, or that he missed you after his most recently mission. It took him to London, the party of five field agents returning with a pretty badly beaten Lucio who laughed and made jokes as you stitched up the gash across his face.

The meal is simple. Rice, some marinated meat and pickled vegetables. Or, well, Hanzo describes it as simple -- it's all quite exotic to you, really. Most of the food on the Watchpoint has been compared to what you're used to. You've passed a lot of time watching Genji cut raw fish for meals before, wondering how anyone could eat it. Hanzo won't let you touch it, though. Not while you're pregnant. Genji has promised you he'll make you some as soon as the baby arrives.

"There is a reason I asked you to eat with me tonight," he announces, watching as you set down your fork for the final time -- he's working on the whole chopsticks thing. You raise an eyebrow watching him reach into one of his pockets.

He places a small box down onto the table, pausing for a moment as though summoning up the courage before sliding it over to you. You eye it for a moment, glancing to him in confusion before taking it into your hands. Just before you open it, it dawns on you what this is.

Oh _no._

The ring inside is beautiful, much more ornate than what you would have expected Hanzo to pick, but still entirely to your tastes when it comes to jewellery. Jesse's had a hand in this. Of _course_ Jesse's had a hand in this. The sound of Hanzo's voice saying your name snaps you out of your stupor, one brought on more by panic than awe. "I would be honoured to call you my wife."

You stare at the ring, wide-eyed, your mouth agape a little, unsure of what to say beyond what you manage. "Hanzo..." You purse your lips. Why do you have to be pregnant? If there was some kind of liquor, this would be remarkably easier. "Hanzo... I..." You take a deep breath and close the box. "I'm sorry. I just can't."

There's a silence, heavy, awkward as you slide the box back to the middle of the table. You look away, fixing your gaze on the window beside you to avoid seeing his expression. "Is it because of Jesse?" He asks, summoning your view to snap to him despite your avoidance.

"What do ya' mean?" You ask. Does he really think that? You're having his child, you're _with_ him. Does he seriously think that--

"Because you are still married." He explains, realising how it sounded, his speech quick. "I have spoken to him already. You are the mother of my child, there is no longer any reason for you to remain married to him by law. You qualify as part of my family regardless." He takes a moment, locking his eyes with yours. "That is not why I wish to marry you, though."

You spend a few short moments wracking your mind for an excuse, something to make this easier for him. How can he possibly understand your reasoning? How can he possibly understand what you've been through? What being a 'free woman' has meant to you? But you can't lie to him. You can't. He's too much to you. "I can't get married again," you explain with a sigh. "Hanzo, this is... lovely, it really is. And I reckon' ya'd be a wonderful husband t' me. But..." closing your eyes, you scratch at your nose. "I just don't wanna' be married right now. T' anyone. I spent so long bein' a wife t' someone, and even longer bein' that without even knowin' it. And sure," you shrug, realising it's all spilling out, "I didn't _know_ that I was married, but I still... I was still his property. All that time. I didn't even know it. I'm only jus' startin' t' be my own person."

He seems shocked. "You would not be property to me," he insists. " _Never._ "

"I know," you assure him. "I know you ain't like that. But where I'm from? That's what it is. And even when Jesse was gone and I _thought_ I was independent, I didn't. I still belonged t' him. That's why Talon was gunnin' for me. Even with m' work I was still defined by the fact he'd been my husband..." you shake your head. "I ain't sayin' 'no' forever, but just for now." You give him a gentle smile. "Ain't like it really changes a lot, anyway. We're still family. I still love ya'. Just... don't got a ring on m' finger."

He nods in silence for a moment, seeming less concerned than he was moments ago, your words sinking in. "I understand," he finally says, reaching out and taking your hand over the top of the table. "May I ask one thing of you, however?" You nod, waiting for him to continue. "Would you... consider divorcing Jesse?"

You blink. "Really?" You ask. "Why?"

"Our child." He glances down to where your abdomen would be, as though he can see it through the seat. "It's not for my own pride," he speaks quickly, as though to re-assure you, "but if you are married to him when the child arrives, legally..."

"It's murky," you finish, nodding in agreement. Technically you're still a McCree. "I mean, I see where ya' comin' from, but all ya' gotta' do is sign the birth certificate and-"

"What if something happens?" He butts in, taking a short, sharp inhale. "If something was to happen to me? Or if you..." He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't need to.

"...Or if Talon got t' me." Your voice is quiet. There's a plan for if Command's suspicions are true. They haven't told you entirely what it is, because if you wind up being a sleeper agent, they want the element of surprise... but Jesse has given you hints, and it doesn't involve you being conscious when the baby arrives. Hypothetically, if that switch was to flip, and you did something to Hanzo...

He squeezes your hand, bringing you back to the table, Hanzo aware you're trapping yourself in a cycle of 'what-if' again. "This child is a Shimada," he says. "I know my clan is all but gone, and I know it seems trivial. But it is important to me."

You nod gently, squeezing back. "Ya' right." You exhale, the situation dawning on you, the sudden realisation settling in that you've been avoiding this for a long time. "I'll talk t' him t'morrow."

"You are aware he will not take it well, then?" He asks. His eyebrow is raised. He knows perfectly well that you're aware how Jesse will react. He won't exactly freak out, but Jesse is... Jesse, at the end of the day. He's still stubborn. He doesn't like to let go of things.

Shrugging, you smile to Hanzo. "Well, he'll jus' havta' put on his big boy pants, won't he?"

* * *

"Trace amounts," Angela explains, her voice quiet. She's been putting this off, delaying it -- Jesse can tell. Angela's come to like her quite a bit. But Morrison and Winston weren't willing to wait any longer, and now five of them stand in the war room, a projection of files lighting up the centre of the table.   
Morrison's arms are crossed, and although he's not showing it, Jesse can almost guarantee he's feeling very vindicated right now. Winston pushes his glasses upwards, too focused on the display to have a readable expression. Satya sits in her seat, giving a single nod, unmoved by this announcement -- did she already know, or did she just see it coming? Jesse's unsure why Satya was invited to this meeting when Hanzo wasn't. It's small, classified, those with a need-to-know relationship only.

"And you're sure about this?" Winston asks, his tone surprisingly cautious. He almost seems disappointed that his suspicions are true. Maybe he never wanted to be right. Maybe his tune has changed now that she's having Hanzo's kid -- Ana told Jesse, once, that Winston has a surprising fondness for children.

She closes her eyes, nodding, everything about her disposition seeming exhausted. "Trust me," she sighs, her hands coming to the edge of the table, her arms bracing her weight against it. "I have run the tests more times than I can count."

"One hundred and forty six times," Satya corrects, glancing to the display. She looks around the room, Angela's expression enough that no one needs to inform Satya that it was more of a figure of speech than anything. "Your work has been very thorough," she adds.

"Define 'trace,'" Winston chimes.

"Less than 0.8 percent of her entire blood count," Angela explains.

Jesse scoffs, shaking his head. "That ain't nothin'," he says. "So, what, we just wait until it drops t' a big ol' zero. Easy." He looks to Angela, hoping to catch her nodding again -- but she doesn't.

Instead she frowns, looking down to her hands. "I am afraid it isn't so simple." She glances to 76, as though to ask permission, and is greeted with a short nod from the elder in the room. "As we have learned in our studies of Widowmaker and Gabri--" she cuts herself off. "...And _The Reaper,_ Talon biotech is heavily focused on cell regeneration. Reaper's only alive because his cells are constantly repairing themselves, and while we don't have any tissue samples, the theory is that similar methods explain why Widowmaker has such a low heart rate and low core body temperature."

"Not t' mention she didn't used t' be purple," Jesse adds.

"Exactly." Angela pauses, closing her eyes to find her place in her explanation again. "The Neurochemicals are... well, from what I've been able to see, they work along the same lines. They regenerate. But they seem to duplicate." She reaches out, tapping a panel at the table, the display changing to a series of graphs. "I was able to find the Neurochemical count in earlier tests we'd run. Even in the pregnancy tests I ran, the Neurochemical is there. But the count is different. It's 0.3 percent. And if we track it across other tests..." the graph is clear, climbing higher and higher. "It is slow, and it could take years to reach viable levels, but it is a hazard."

There's a pause. "Does it really mean anythin', though?" Jesse asks. "She ain't been brainwashed. Sure, she got the chemical that'd open her t' it but--"

"We don't know that," Morrison cuts in. "Amelie didn't remember anything when she came back to us, either. Passed a polygraph. Had us all fooled. I'm sure she's told you stories, but fake memories are easy to implant." Jesse's jaw tenses, picking up on the subtle venom in Morrison's wording. He knew that, of course. He knew that because he'd seen Morrison _do_ it to prisoners back in Blackwatch.

"We are lucky," Angela pipes up, her voice raised, trying to cut through the tension and diffuse the situation, "to have found it so early. I have already come up with some ideas for treatment. It is entirely possible that we can find a way to reverse it, although it make take some time."

"She's pregnant, isn't she?" Winston asks. He doesn't even wait for Angela to signal the affirmative, shaking his head, clearly exasperated. "This is an absolute security nightmare."

She shakes her head. "Actually, that issue is easily solved," she insists. "We've caught it in time to prevent crossing of the Neurochemical through the placenta. A simple injection, very similar to if the child had a negative blood type whilst she had a positive. The real challenge will be getting the level down to... a manageable level."

"Why not zero?" Morrison grunts.

"I am unsure if that's possible. It would be ideal," she agrees, "but until we learn more about Talon's regenerative bio tech, we may just have to settle for management."

Jesse scratches at his beard, straightening his posture a little. "What I ain't understandin' is how in god's name they woulda' got this in her," he asks. "If she ain't been brainwashed, I mean." He shoots a look at Morrison, knowing perfectly well what he'll suggest. "Wouldn't make sense t' me, Morrison," he explains. "I know how Reyes works. He wouldn't bother keepin' as many files on her as he did for as long as he did. Woulda' just shadowed her inta' one of them facilities, done 'is work an' then planted her where I'd find her. Not stalk her. Waste o' his time."

Winston lets out a grunt of agreement, nodding. "Probably wanted to keep an eye on the Neurochemical's progress."

Angela changes the display again, the chemical makeup of the Neurochemical appearing. "From what I can gather, it has a highly strong bonding rate to restorative cells, so I suspect it has bonded to white blood cells as they rush to repair some kind of wound." She shrugs. "It could have been anything. A mosquito bite, a cut, even a light pin scratch could have done it."

"Right," Jesse nods along. "So whatta' we do?" He asks. "Whatta' th' options?" Morrison crosses his arms, the creak of his jacket's leather catching the Cowboy's attention. "I swear t' god, Morrison, you suggest it and I'll tell Shimada."

"Suggest what?" Angela asks. Jesse says nothing, holding his gaze with the commander. "Oh!" She throws a hand over her mouth, catching on. "Oh, no, we cannot-"

"Killing her before she kills one of us would be a logically viable move," Satya finally says, cutting Angela right off. "Although Dr. Ziegler has found use for her within her labs, Mrs. McCree has little other contribution to Overwatch as a team. It would be of more use to protect the more skilled members from harm."

Jesse scoffs, gesturing to Satya, who remains perched on her seat in a way that is currently infuriating him. She's discussing a human life like it's nothing but a business asset, and yet has a nerve to sit all prim and proper as though she's innocent. "Okay, alright, who invited her, anyway?" He asks. "What's she gotta' contribute other than a general lack o' respect for life?"

Satya is unmoved by Jesse's words, other than a raised eyebrow. It's Morrison who speaks, however. "Check yourself," he warns. "Symmetra is the only one stopping me from putting that woman in a coma for nine months."

The engineer looks around the room, as though waiting for objections that never come. Satisfied that she has command of the small audience, she uncrosses her legs and delicately stands. "Winston informed me of this security concern before I began to undertake the design of Mrs McCree's arm," she explains, tapping something on a datapad of her own to change the display. A blueprint of the arm. "As such, I have incorporated some security features within the prosthetic." The blueprint opens up, showing the interior elements. "The arm is equipped with a tracking device as well as a transmitter to allow us to monitor her vitals at any time..." the very top of the arm pulls off the rest of the blueprint, expanding to show some tubes and wires. "The arm, as with most prosthesis of this design, is connected to a base unit for easy removal and maintenance. Such a base unit is commonly integrated with the anatomy of the wearer, acting as a conduit for their nervous system." Jesse, of course, is well aware of this. His base unit is gives his own arm feeling and sensation. It's what allows him to move it.  
"I have installed a small processor within the base unit that will allow us to constantly monitor her Neurochemical levels, as well as unit of a sedative."

"So if her levels are too high, or she attacks, we can just sedate her." Winston smiles a little as he thinks aloud, audibly impressed with this.

Morrison nods along, pacing just the smallest amount. "And if Talon manage to get her to base?" He asks. "If they get this tech?"

She hesitates for a moment before swiping again, something flickering in her expression that Jesse can't say he's ever seen in Satya. Discomfort, maybe? No, that's one she wears all the time. This is different, but it's gone too quickly for him to pin-point it. "There is a fail-safe," she explains. "In the event of an extreme emergency regarding Mrs. McCree, there is a mid-yield explosive within the base unit." Angela gives a short gasp, failing to stifle it, but Satya continues regardless. "Enough to permanently disable her and those around her, even cause structural damage." She looks down to her datapad. "This would solely be last resort. It would absolutely result in loss of her life."

A silence hangs in the room, only breaking when Jesse releases a very soft _'Jesus.'_

"So..." Angela speaks slowly. "This woman... this... _pregnant_ woman... is carrying an explosive, and isn't aware?"

Satya nods, as though this isn't anything unusual. "These designs were finalised before I was made aware of the pregnancy, but they pose no risk."

"No risk?" Angela asks, her voice faltering just a tiny bit, enough for Jesse to pick up on. "Satya, it's a _bomb._ "

"And it will not be detonated unless necessary," Satya replies. "Only myself and Winston will be given clearance to activate such an explosive." There's a pause. "And my access is only if Winston delivers me the order to proceed."

Angela shakes her head, her mouth agape. "And do you plan on _telling_ her?"

"It would be counter productive to tell Mrs. McCree of these measures," Satya responds. "They are to remain confidential to those cleared for this meeting."

"Talon doesn't need to know about this," Morrison adds. "If she's Talon and finds out, we risk Talon sabotaging." He pauses, eyeing Angela for a moment. "I will remind you," he warns, "that if this measure is compromised, the next step will be to enact my original plan." Jesse winces. Morrison's original plan was somehow worse. Put her in a drug induced coma for nine months, deliver the baby, then decide what to do with her while she was still unconscious.

Angela thinks for a moment, taking a deep breath, a sudden dignified expression taking her. "Very well," she says, quietly. "I will co-operate, but I will do so wondering what happened to our sense of empathy and humanity." She nods to Winston and Jesse before storming out of the room, visibly shaken.

The three wait in silence, all of them processing her exit, before Winston finally speaks. "I don't think I need to stress the importance of keeping this from Hanzo," he says.

Jesse gives a grunt, nodding. "Ya' don't," he agrees, "but it don't mean I gotta' like this one bit."

"It's to protect her as much as it is us," Winston says, watching in surprise as Morrison suddenly leaves without so much as a word. He exhales, exhausted by this, and nods to the two remaining. "I'll keep in touch."

They watch as he leaves, Jesse eventually pushing himself off the wall that he was leaning on, not at all surprised to notice Satya hasn't moved a muscle, still tapping away at her data pad. He turns to the door, entirely intending to leave as silently as Morrison, but something stops him. "If it is any consolation," Satya speaks suddenly, "I have great hopes that we will not need to enact these measures." Curious, he turns, eyeing her. She hasn't looked up from her datapad at all.

"Yeah, well," he replies, turning his back again and opening the door, "I hope ya' onta' somethin'."

"Of course," she replies, "I spent many hours researching and minimising impact on Mrs. McCree's day to day life."

"Real generous of ya'," he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, fully aware she probably wouldn't even pick up on his tone.

More tapping as he takes a step into the call. "Not generous," she corrects. "I am emotionally invested in her well-being. I find her aesthetically pleasing."   
The door closes behind Jesse, who stands in the hall frozen. Did she...? No. No, he couldn't have heard right. No way. He shakes his head and proceeds down the hall.

That's what he needs. More fuckin' competition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys.  
> I am so sorry for being away for so long.  
> Those who follow me on Twitter know, but basically I've had a really rough spot in my personal life. Hopefully this chapter is long enough to kind of make up for that. It also has a little set up for the sequel I'm writing, which is m a x i m u m m c r e e .   
> I'm so, so sorry again for being away for so long. Thank you everyone who's stuck around or come back.   
> Love you so much. <3


	27. Another Man, Another Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: Divorce, pregnancy

"This feels... weird."

You stare at the old records building in Ogdenville. Being in this town at all feels off after everything that's happened, but knowing why you're here is... well, it's a mash of emotions. You aren't sure which one you can accurately use to describe how you're feeling -- but 'weird' seems to be the best word.

Jesse nods, crossing his arms. "Yeah, I reckon'," he replies. "Ya' sure 'bout this?"

"'Course I am." You answer instinctively, and it almost feels too quick. "We gotta do this, Jesse," you explain. "Been a long time comin'. Shoulda' done it years ago."

There's a pause, Jesse glancing over to you. "...You're showin'," he notes, absolutely pointing out the obvious. You're six months along, and you've only just been given clearance to leave the Watchpoint -- with supervision, of course. You're well aware that Fareeha is trailing you.

"I been showin' for three months now, Jesse," you argue. "If ya' tryina' change th' subject, ya' gotta try harder."

"I'm sorry," he exhales, shaking his head, removing his hat to push his hair from his face. "I'm just..." he waits for a moment, trying to figure out if he wants to explain himself or not. "I reckon' ya' woulda' figured out I ain't too good with this emotional junk by now, Darlin'." He tilts his head towards you, catching your gaze. "Lettin' go's hard. 'Spose that's what this is. Thought I already had, but..."

You watch him carefully, staring down the records building like it's something threatening. In a way, you suppose, it is. He's not wrong, either. You thought you'd let it go already. You'd thought that somewhere between falling in love with Hanzo and joining the Watchpoint, that over the course of all that's happened, you had let go. "Me too," you admit. "But now I think about it? Maybe I wasn't lettin' go. Maybe I just... maybe we just been healin', up 'till now."

He takes this in for a moment, before giving a shallow nod. "Yeah," he agrees, his voice unusually soft. "Yeah. Think ya' right."

He takes a few steps towards the building, you following, but when you come to the doors you reach out and grab his arm. "You ain't gonna start avoidin' me, right?" You ask.

"What?" Jesse turns to face you, wide eyed, confused. "Avoidin'... now," he laughs with a smile, "why would I do that?"

"Dunno." You give a shrug. "I know this' been hard fer' ya' and all. I just... don't want ya' avoidin' me like ya' do everythin' else that troubles ya'."

Jesse shakes his head, reaching up the take your hand from his arm and hold it in his. "Ain't gonna pretend it ain't been hard," he admits, "but there's silver linings. You're happy. Hanzo's happy. I get t' be a godfather soon." He pauses, pointing one of his robotic fingers at you, "I mean that, I don't care if Hanzo says no, I get t' be 'Uncle Jesse,'" he jokes, eliciting a laugh from you. "Me not gettin' th' girl at the end of the story, after I treated her downright rotten like I did? Not the worst price t' pay t' see my oldest friend get th' life she's always deserved." He gives your hand a squeeze. _Oldest friend._ You like that.

"What's that thing Hana keeps on sayin'? _'Family can be lotsa' things,'_ " you recite, upping the pitch of your voice a little in an attempt to imitate her. "' _It can be a mom, a dad n' a baby, or it can be a Russian bodybuilder, a Chinese scientist n' a little ice robot.'_ " You pause, smiling. "'Cept in our case, reckon' it's an ex-workin' girl, a Japanese archer, n' a Cowboy who ain't much smarter than th' baby that's on th' way." You shoot him a smirk, watching him chuckle a little at your joke.

He releases your hand and pushes open the door. "Reckon' I'll take that," he says as you both step inside the records building. The interior does well to remind you just how wonderful you find the Watchpoint to be. Everything on the Watchpoint is made of metal, but here? Back home? It's all wood, all well polished -- although sometimes dusty. You've actually missed it a little, now that you think about it, listening to Jesse press the rusty little bell on the bench that struggles to chime.

After a few moments, a figure scuffles his way out of a small side-office. Old and hunched over, the man pushes his glasses as he comes to the desk. "If ya' here 'bout a passport, we don't do 'em here anymore, gotta head t' Santa Fe for one." He comes to a stand still, clearing his throat, looking at the both of you as you notice his nametag reads _'Lou.'_ "'Course, ya' woulda' known that if ya'd read th' sign out th'..." The old man tails off, his eyes widening a little after a moment, magnified by his thick glasses. "...Good lord," he all but squeaks. "Why, if it ain't th' McCrees!" To your surprise, Lou's grouchy disposition changes, broadening into a smile.

You look to Jesse in confusion. This... isn't someone you remember. "Friend o' yours?" You ask.

Lou speaks up, though. "I used t' run the Mortgage department down at the Little Justice bank," he explains. You eye him carefully -- he does seem a little familiar, but old white men are a dime a dozen around these parts. "In fact, Mrs McCree?" He asks. "Why, you delivered my first grandchild. Ya' 'member Sandra O'Malley?"

You think back. It all seems so long ago, but it's there, if not just vaguely. Sandra O'Malley, with her two poodles and overbearing husband, a baby in breach. A little girl. "Why, yes, I do," you laugh. "How's she doin'?"

"She's off in Santa Fe now," he explains. "Two more little girls n' a boy." There's a moment's pause, and Lou seems to hesitate. "Always wondered what you two got up ta'," he says. "Used ta' see them wanted posters of ya, Mr McCree," he says, giving Jesse a nod, "n' I heard some downright terrible rumours bout you, too," he nods to you now. "But then one day th' wanted posters all got taken down, and now you two are here," he says with a smile, gesturing to you. "And expectin', too!" He exclaims. "Why, I reckon' you two'd be goin' on at _least_ ten years now."

Jesse exhales, glancing towards you. "Lot longer than that," he says. He glances between you and Lou and it dawns on you that he's asking you to break this man the news. Awkward. He seems so genuinely pleased to see you both doing well.

"So," Lou asks. "What can I be doin' for ya'? I can wire through n' book a birth announcement for when ya' little one arrives, if ya'd like."

"Actually..." you offer him a smile, although you're more than aware it's not going to fool anyone. "Jesse n' I are here t'... file fer' a divorce." The mood in the room immediately drops, along with Lou's expression. "We tried t' do it from... well, from where we're livin' now, but things 'round here are so..." Old? Backwards? "... _Different_ that we figured it'd just be easier t' come where the marriage certificate is n' do it here."

Lou reaches up and scratches behind his ear. "Yeah, we sure have been havin' problems with our wires..." he suddenly shakes his head in confusion. "Forgive m' curiosity, but... ya'll both seem so..."

Jesse looks to you, then to Lou, sensing how uncomfortable you are right now. "Look, Lou, this has been a long journey fer' us n' it ain't somethin' we really wanna' discuss. Not t' offend ya', of course." His tone is friendly, but firm -- so quintessentially Jesse.

Lou nods, muttering something under his breath. "'Course. Gimme' a coupla' minutes t' go get th' forms fer' ya'." With that, he shuffles back into his office. He soon returns, laying down about four or five pages of documents in front of each of you, following with a pen. "Fill out these," he explains, "need 'em from both of ya'. While ya' do that, I'll go n' dig up ya' marriage certificate so I can send 'em off together." Visibly disheartened by the turn in his idea of your relationship, he wordlessly shuffles through another door, one that reads 'archives.' He'll be gone for a while.

And so, you take the pens and begin to fill out the forms. It's all pretty straightforward stuff. Names, date of birth, any children, date of marriage, stuff like that. But you both come to a stop with one question: grounds for divorce. There's a few preset options with boxes to tick.

_No-Fault:_  
_Incompatibility []_

_Fault:_  
_Cruel and Inhumane Treatment []_  
_Adultery []_  
_Abandonment []_

_For other reasoning, please seek counsel from an attorney or legal representative and see Form 429a._

"Well," you begin, "incompatibility it is."

"Now hold on." Jesse clears his throat, pointing to the word _'Abandonment'_ on your form. "I reckon' I'm pretty guilty of that there."

"Jesse, that's a fault divorce," you insist. "We agreed on no-fault, 'member?"

He shakes his head. "Yeah, but I mean, it ain't like ya' gonna take me t' court or nothin'." He pauses. "Darlin', I straight up abandoned ya' like a--"

" _Jesse,_ " you snap, "just tick th' goddamn incompatibility box and stop tryina' romance everythin', alright?"

He purses his lips and gives a grunt, ticking the box. "All parta' lettin' go, I guess," he says.

In unison, you both sign the final pages of the divorce papers.

* * *

Your hands look a little odd holding the wrapped present, one made of flesh and bone, another made of a glossy metal and reflecting the green of the wrapping paper from its surface. At first you'd been tempted to wear a glove over it, especially for this occasion, but Hanzo convinced you that no one would notice. He was right. No one has. Not a single person has even glanced at it. In fact, there seem to be a lot more people around here with some kind of metallic enhancement than you'd ever expected.

"You are still nervous," Hanzo observes, causing you to look up from the box. He's standing while you sit, keeping an eye out, and it still strikes you how different he looks in more casual clothing. He's dressed warmer for the winter, as are you, his hands in his pocket and a gentle smile on his face. Seeing him so at ease fills you with a special kind of happiness, but it's not making you less nervous. The smile suddenly breaks into a grin, an almost mischievous one. "It is cute."

You roll your eyes and shake your head, adjusting your position on the bench where you wait. The flight wasn't exactly too long, but given that you're eight months pregnant now, it was still exhausting. Your back hurts, you're tired and the baby is having a great time kicking at what you can swear it your kidney right now -- but the last thing you want to do is complain. This day is too important. "Glad m' nerves are so amusin' t' ya'."

He looks downwards, smiling to himself again. "There is no reason to be nervous," he assures you. "He is very excited to meet you."

"I know," you exhale. "But that don't change anythin'. Hanzo, what if I'm not what he's expectin'?" You pause. "What if he don't understand anythin' I say?" You've been trying to learn Japanese over the last few months, but despite the best efforts of the Shimada brothers -- and even Mei -- you're not exactly at a conversational level yet.

Hanzo, however, is not as concerned. "He has been learning English since pre-school."

"Yeah, but m' accent. Get's pretty heavy."

"He understands Jesse without issue," he laughs.

You smile, shaking your head. "Well, Joji better not start callin' me Yankee-san or nothin'." Hanzo gives an open laugh at this, something Jesse had warned you of, something Hanzo had encouraged his son to do to his best friend.

Hanzo approaches you, removing one hand from his pocket and lifting up your chin to look him in the eye. "He has a good sense of people," he says. "Believe me, he will like you." He brushes some hair back behind your ear. "You are giving him a sister, after all." His eyes suddenly light up, his gaze shifting behind you.

When you turn, you see it -- the small figure on the other side of the small residential park. All rugged up for the winter, just like you, Joji approaches, his hands holding on to the straps of his backpack. It still blows your mind a little that a ten year old boy was allowed to make the trip to meet you alone, but Hanzo insists that it's just the way children are raised here. You'll be spending a few days together, heading to Osaka for a small vacation before Christmas. You rise from the bench, clutching the wrapped gift to your chest, almost resting it on your belly as he gets closer. From under the brim of his baseball cap, you can make out his face now -- he absolutely has his father's eyes, that's for certain, although his face is decidedly rounder.

Hanzo steps out from around the bench, grinning ear to ear, his son's expression matching his own. "Joji," he says, kneeling down to meet his son, arms outstretched for him. Joji doesn't hesitate, throwing his arms over his father's shoulders. Hanzo says something in Japanese, Joji's response starting with a laugh, eyebrows raised as he replies. Hanzo's own laugh follows.

You feel a little out of place, but Hanzo doesn't waste time, rising and leading Joji over to you. Oh boy. This is it. "Joji, this is--"

"Hello!" Joji speaks over his father, his voice cheery, accent thick. "My name is Joji! It is nice to meet you!" It seems a little rehearsed, but in a way that comes with saying a phrase over and over, possibly in a class setting.

You look to Hanzo, feeling a little like a deer in the headlights for a second, but his sole response is a nod of encouragement. Looking back to Joji, you clear your throat, smiling nervously. Nervous to meet a ten year old. Just look at you now. "It's nice t' meet ya', Joji," you say, "ya' pa's told me all about ya'."

He gives a little gasp of surprise, the smile just as eager as before. "You talk like Yankee-San!" He exclaims, glancing to his father, who's stifling a laugh. "Are you his friend?"

"Ya' could say that," you laugh, "Jesse and I grew up t'gether." This visibly impresses Joji, who's eyes widen. "I uh," you begin, "I brought ya' somethin', for th' Holidays," you explain, giving the box a gentle shake. "Ya' pa' told me ya' usually get cake, but I saw it and I thought ya' might get a little more use outta' it when Spring comes." The item inside is a baseball mitt with Joji's name stitched into it, along with some gingerbread -- on your insistence.

"Come," Hanzo says, tilting his head towards the busy street across from the park. "We will get lunch, so you can be sitting down when you open it," he smiles to Joji, who gives an excited nod. "What would you like?"

"Freshness!" He chimes without missing a single beat, Hanzo's grin matching his son's as he witnesses his enthusiasm.

"Freshness?" You ask. "That some kinda' salad place?" You've learned a fair bit about life outside of your hunk of America since joining the Watchpoint. Hana genuinely finds something fascinating about exposing you to all these modern places and things, and has made a point of taking you to McDonalds (which you hated, although Hana insists it's better in Korea) KFC (which you _loved,_ ) and Taco Bill (which, although nowhere near as good as what you could get back home, still really hit the spot when you were craving a Quesadilla.) This 'Freshness,' though, is one you haven't heard of before.

"You've never been?" Joji asks.

"I... don't think we got that one in 'Merica," you guess, giving a shrug and tucking the box under your arm. It's then that something incredibly surprising happens -- Joji seizes your free hand, and without another word, excitedly leads you across the road, nearly leaving his laughing father behind.

As you eat, Joji has a lot of questions for you. Are you a Cowboy like Yankee-san? Have you ever fired a gun? What about a rocket? Do you work at Overwatch, too? Have you met Uncle Genji? Is your arm the same as Uncle Genji's cool new robot body? Does it have guns? What about lasers? Eventually, though, a question comes along that's a lot less fanciful. "How long until my sister is born?"

You smile, your hand instinctively resting on your protruding belly. "I reckon' about a month, now," you reply. "Ya' excited?"

Joji nods enthusiastically. "What's her name going to be?" He asks.

You pause, looking to Hanzo. Hanzo merely shrugs. "We uh..." you tilt your head to the side a little. "Well, we ain't settled on anythin' yet." You've been trying for a while to come up with something, but nothing has really stuck. For a while you considered Summer, but then Hanzo suggested Keiko and the entire cycle began again.

"Joji," Hanzo begins, "would it be easier for you if she had a Japanese name or a Western one?"

His son merely shrugs, taking a handful of errant french-fries and shoving them into his mouth. "I don't care," he says as he chews. "Mom says that my English is really good."

"It is," you point agree.

"I'm really good at naming things!" He suddenly claims, swallowing the mouthful. "We have fish in the classroom and most of them have names I picked! You should name her..." he pauses, thinking, resting his head in his hand as he thinks. Honestly, it's adorable. You can definitely see why he's often compared to Genji. This is absolutely how you can imagine the younger Shimada's disposition as a child. Hanzo? Not so much. If Joji didn't look so much like his father, you might even have some concerns about his parentage. "You should name her Jun!" He proclaims.

Hanzo rests back into his seat, smiling, "Jun..." he repeats.

"Ya' know..." you think over it before turning to Hanzo. "Add an 'e' and it becomes 'June.'"

"A name for both languages," he adds.

You're both a little impressed. "I like that, Joji," you say, exhaling a little as she shifts inside you. "Reckon' we'll consider it."

"I got it from a video game," he informs you, visibly proud of himself.

You give a gasp, hand flying to the front of your belly. "Oh!" You jump a little in your seat. "She's kickin' like a bronco in there," you laugh, "musta' liked that burger." You look up to Joji, who's staring at your hands, as though he's trying to see what's going on in there. "...Ya' wanna feel?" You ask. "It's pretty cool."

Joji all but leaps out of his seat, moving around the table, stopping in front of you like he's waiting for an instruction. You notice him glance to his father for a moment before you take his hand.

"Give 'er a second," you say as you lay it flat across your stomach. "She's likes ta-" you're cut off when Joji gives a gasp, wide-eyed as she lets out a strong couple of kicks.

"Woah!" He exclaims, excitedly chirping something in Japanese at his father, his eyes almost as wide as dinner plates. Hanzo bursts into laughter, resting his hand on your shoulder and leaning in to translate.

"He says she'll be able to beat people up," he translates, both of you watching as Joji is enthralled by the show she's putting on.

You laugh, exhaling a little as he rests his head on your shoulder, his face against yours. "Good," you reply. "Got a feelin' she'll need it."

"I hope not," Hanzo says.

You shake your head, turning to kiss his cheek quickly while Joji -- who's now speaking to your belly -- is distracted. "Nah," you laugh. "With us fer' parents? We'll be lucky if she's just good at _kickin'_ people."

The three of you spend some time in there, and you can't help but marvel how far it is from where you started. In the beginning there was you and a cowboy sitting on the front porch of your father's ranch -- and now you're pregnant, sitting with an archer and his son in a Japanese fast food restaurant. Even though the first sounds a lot more romantic, this, right now, is perfect.

On your wedding day, before you walked down the aisle and married Jesse McCree, your mother said something very important. Something very true.

_"I'm glad you picked him. He might be rough around the edges, and he'll make mistakes -- big ones, too, you count on that -- but at the end of the day, he'll do right by you. Don't you worry about that."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys. The second last chapter.  
> This has been the wildest of rides. Thank you all so much for sharing it with me, for your kind words, your support, your everything. I've enjoyed writing this so much. At times it was my saviour, my escape from really shitty things happening in my life. At other times it was just really good fucking fun. This community is awesome, and I'm so glad that you enjoyed this like you did.
> 
> This story will be added to a series in order to keep it and the sequel linked... as soon as I come up with a name for it, haha!
> 
> If you'd like to keep up with me outside of AO3 or ask me questions, my twitter is very active:  
> twitter.com/elizabethdanger  
> Thank you all so much, from the bottom of my heart <3


	28. True Grit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: Cursing, mention of druggings and stuff, implications of racism.

Kicking his feet up on the seat across from him, Jesse McCree swipes open his phone, exhaling and trying to get comfortable for the third hour in a row. It's been a trial getting this far. Ms Beaumont has been notoriously difficult to get an audience with, it seems. Jesse hasn't even been able to get near her, even with the full use of his charms and experience. Of course, making contact with her hasn't been his primary objective for the last day or so. Make sure she's alive first. A time will come for him to help her take power, of course, but there's a bigger playing field there than what Jesse can cover by himself.

Of course, it'd be easier if she wasn't missing right now. Kidnapped, her people suspect -- who have _finally_ come around to the idea of Overwatch assistance now that she's in obvious danger. He opens his messages: two unread. One from Winston, one from Hanzo. Winston's is priority, and straightforward. _'Call me when you're available. Need updates on location.'_ He decides, though, to open Hanzo's message before making contact back. Once Winston is on the line, it's business time. He could use the final few moments of quiet on the trail.

Hanzo's message is a much less flat and much longer. An update on his new little family, a picture of the three of them and baby June attached. June. He flew out a few days before she was born, much to his regret, but Jesse knew he would have to let go of June's mother and let Hanzo step in eventually. She's adorable, though. Full head of thick, dark hair, Hanzo's mouth, her mother's eyes. God, that'll kill him every time she looks at her, he thinks. Her cheeks are so chubby and rosy, and in this photo she's frowning at whatever food she's got all over her hands. Her mother is laughing, Hanzo's cheek covered in a baby-sized hand-print of the substance. No doubt one of Hana's photos -- apparently she's infatuated with her.

They're flying out to Japan soon, visiting his son in Tokyo. He comments that June's mother is nervous every time she meets him, and Jesse knows for a fact that this probably won't pass for a few good years. It will be his son's first time meeting his baby sister. Joji is a good kid, a big heart like Genji. Real kind streak to him. Jesse is positive he'll love June immediately.

Bad news otherwise. Traces of Neurochemical still in her blood. It doesn't really _mean_  a lot for June's mother, honestly, but it's still enough to make command suspicious. More observation needed. Lena and Ana are to accompany them to Tokyo for their leave, in case she tries to make a run for it. This will probably be how things will operate for a long time, until her blood is Neurochemical free -- or at least down to a level that means it's manageable. God knows how long that will take. Still, the Watchpoint is probably the safest place for her and June. There isn't a doubt in his mind that she's still a primary target for Talon, moreso since June came along.

He vacantly runs the thumb of his free hand over the top of his belt buckle. There's a guilt that follows whenever he receives more news about June, one he's still trying to process. There's a sting of jealousy. June's mother, after all, is Jesse's ex-wife. And as much joy as seeing her happy (and Hanzo, for that matter) brings him, he can't seem to resist meditating on the possibilities. What if they'd reconciled? What if, by some miracle, they'd had a child of their own? What if that was him with a baby-sized handprint of food on his face. Would June look more like Jesse or more like her mother?

Jesse pushes it to the back of his mind. He has, for the most part, let go. They're close friends, of course. There's a funny kind of love between Jesse and June's mother that neither of them can seem to name or place, but one they can't deny is there. She's thriving, too, which is nice to see. Angela thought she might relent and agree to marry Hanzo after June was born, but Jesse knows her better. June's mother is stubborn as a bull, and if she said no to Hanzo the first time, she's not going to marry him until _she_ decides it's time. Jesse knows he's the one to blame for this, but he'll never admit this to Hanzo. He doesn't need to. She loves Hanzo the world over, the same way she loved Jesse all those years ago. Only difference is that she doesn't need to marry Hanzo to show it. It's touching, really.

He saves the picture Hanzo's sent before closing the messaging app, opening his contacts and making the call to Winston as requested. He picks up almost immediately. "Jesse," he grunts. "I sent you that message an hour ago."

"Yeah, n' I was sleepin'," he retorts, reaching up to scratch at his jaw. "Been a long trip, Winston. Need my beauty sleep."

"Where are you?" Winston asks. "I just spoke to Symmetra and she hasn't heard from you, either. I thought you were in--"

"Sydney?" Jesse finishes. "Yeah. Was. Then ya' girl went missin'."

A grunt of acknowledgement. "I trust you're taking care of it?" He asks.

"Takin' care of it?" Jesse pauses, giving a snort. "Best damned thing that ever happened t' this mission. Finally got their people t' talk t' me. Lit a fire right up under their ass." He shakes his head, fully aware that no one can see him, but feeling the need to express himself somehow. The constant walling around Beaumont has been frustrating, to say the least. "Heading central. Out near th' wastes. Gonna find Hog n' Junkrat."

"Think they'll help?" Winston asks.

Jesse rolls his neck from side to side, opening the window and peering out. Dust. Red dust. He's close. "Help?" He repeats. "'Course they will. They're th' ones who took 'er, after all."

There's a silence. Short. Punctuated. "...What?"

He smirks. "Yep. Holdin' her in some ol' bunker."

"I..." Jesse can hear Winston typing away frantically. "How did they... how did you find out?" He asks. "We haven't had contact with them for weeks--"

" _You_ haven't," Jesse butts in. "I have." He finally breaks, his voice rolling into a laugh. "Relax, Big Kong! I planned this all out. It's a set up." Another silence, longer than the last. Jesse decides to not wait. "Got tired of her people not takin' us seriously. Had to make 'em, put 'er in a situation that'd force 'em take notice before someone finally puts a bullet in 'er brain." Jesse shifts in his seat a little. "She's fine, by the way. Got th' boys treatin' her like a princess."

Winston releases a deep sigh, exhausted by the mere idea of this. "Those two don't treat _anyone_ like a princess."

"Hey now! Hog's quite the gentleman when he wants t' be. Just ask Angie."

"And Junkrat?"

Jesse tries to come up with some kind of quip, but there's nothing. "...Look, she ain't gonna be there much longer. She'll be fine."

"And what's your cover story?" Winston asks. "What's going to stop them from coming after us now that you've effectively kidnapped their figurehead?"

Smirking, he relaxes into his seat. "Detonators found a few days back near the union building she was 'sposed t' visit on the down low," he explains. "If she'd been there when she was meant t', she'd be nothin' but tomato paste. _But,_ " he continues with a grin, "thanks to intel gathered by yours truly, I was able t' arrange fer' her t' be whisked away t' safety before she' could be blown away thanks t' the lack o' co-operation from her people."

There's another silence, but it's not followed by any sound of disapproval, and his frantic typing stops. "...That's..."

"Genius?"

"Diabolical."

Jesse opens the curtain, gazing out the window to try and gauge where exactly he is. There's not a lot to go off. Mostly dust, dirt, sand -- every now and then there's a dried out tree or some grass that may as well be hay. "Ya' sent th' best, ya' get th' best." He pauses, looking upwards. It's overcast today, but he can tell that there's an angry, angry sun behind those clouds just waiting to wreak havoc. He grew up on the frontier, sure, and has spent a lot of time in the desert. Australia, though? He hasn't experienced anything like this kind of heat. At it's worst, Arizona is humid, burning -- but Australia's sun stings, and cuts right through you. It's almost acidic. "How's Tiny Dancer holdin' up?" he asks.

Winston chuckles, doing a terrible job of hiding it. The news that Jesse has control of the situation has evidently lifted his mood. "You know she hates it when you call her that, right?"

"Why do ya' think I persist?" He asks, drawing the curtain closed again.

"Symmetra's..." Winston trails off for a moment. "She's not like you, Jesse."

He nods. "Still strugglin' t' adapt, hey?"

A pause. "...I... think her issues with the place run a little deeper than that." Winston clears his throat. "But she's doing well in terms of the mission. She's blended in quite well at the CSIRO, and she's feeding back some great information."

"Knew she'd do well," McCree affirms. Winston had been a little hesitant at the idea of sending Satya to do covert ops work, but Jesse knows potential when he sees it. Sure, he wouldn't exactly be sending her directly into Volskaya Industries or anything, but she's good at keeping a low profile.

"I'll keep in touch," Winston says decidedly. "Remember: keep your head down. We need to keep our profile low if we're gonna sway things later on."

The call cuts out, leaving Jesse along in the train cabin with his thoughts and his phone. He swipes it open again, pausing for a moment before re-opening the image Hanzo sent. A few taps and it's now the wallpaper of his phone.

He swipes through a few menus until he opens the image of the target. Beaumont. She's definitely a looker, but not really his type. ...At least enough for him to go out of his way for, anyway. Maybe it's because Jesse's seen her in action, because he's watched her campaigning. She's interesting, intelligent, feisty -- but he can tell she's high maintenance, a bit of a princess. Besides, he's here to work.

"Burketown," the Conductor announces over the speakers. "Burketown, last stop." Jesse clears his throat, shifting himself out of the seat and stretching his back out. Taking his pack, he slides open the door of the little compartment he's been residing in and steps into the train carriage, looking around. No one else is waiting to disembark. It's just him and the Conductor.

Stepping onto the platform, it dawns on him that this part of the country is a whole lot of nothing. There's a small building at the station and he can spy a few dishevelled houses, a pub.... that's it. The rest is dirt and dust, the heat causing the horizon to shift in waves. For a moment, he's a little nervous. His contact should be here, the one that Junkrat told him would take him to their hiding spot -- but he's the only one on the platform.

It's then that he hears it: the loud, earth rumbling roar of an engine that's been to hell and back, the sound of dirt and dust crunching under something heavy, muffled rock music in the distance. If he has to hazard a guess, it's his contact, one of Junkrat's friends, maybe. He's never met another... whatever they call themselves. Junkers? Wastelanders? There's a term for them, he's sure of it.

The... well, he can't exactly call it a car. It's somewhere between a truck and a demolition derby van. Whatever it is, it skids up beside the station where he waits, the dust rising into the air, the smell of gas permeating the air. It's a big structure, and it's seen better days, but he can tell it's sturdy and well armored. It could probably survive more than it's share of explosions. Honestly, it probably has.

After a few moments, a figure rises from the other side, hanging out and over the roof. "Oi," she calls, lifting goggles from her face and letting them sit on her forehead. Honestly, she's a sight to see - blonde, covered in dirt and grease, a few scars littering the top of her arms, sunburn and freckles everywhere else. She's also _incredibly_ tall. Almost intimidatingly so. "You Jamie's mate?"

It takes Jesse a few moments to remember exactly how to speak. "Jamie?" He asks.

She rolls her eyes. "Fuckin'. Ya' know," she sounds exacerbated, "Fawkie?" Jesse stares blankly. "Junkrat?"

"Oh!" Jesse cracks a smile. "Junkrat!" He repeats, before giving a smirk. "Name's Jesse McCree." He tilts his hat down a little, switching on the charm -- although, honestly, he's not sure if it'll stick.

"Right," she laughs to herself, cracking a grin. "I'm Derby. Jamie told me ta' give you a lift." She slams her hand down on the roof of the vehicle a few times, something he quickly figures out is a gesture for him to get in. "C'mon, then. Bit of a drive so if ya' gotta take a slash, recommend ya' do it now."

"Can't we just stop?" He asks, approaching the car.

"Nah mate," Derby shakes her head, watching him open the door and throw his pack inside. "Once ya' hit the Doomadgee, shit's fucked." With that, she lowers herself back down into the driver's seat, waiting for McCree to climb inside, slamming his door shut behind him.

The first few minutes of the drive is relatively quiet spare for the music, which Derby eventually turns a little bit down to speak over -- although she still has to shout a little to be audible over the engine. "Jamie never tells me shit about his mates," she shouts, pausing to switch gears for a moment as they go over a bump. Whatever they call this thing, she drives it expertly. "You some kind of cowboy?"

"You could say that," he shrugs. "Not s'much anymore, but back in the day..." he pauses. "More of an outlaw, actually."

She chuckles, throwing him a glance. "I reckon' we'll get along just fuckin' fine, then!" She takes a sharp turn, knocking Jesse a little. "When Jamie told me he was part of this Overwatch thing, I thought he was pulling the piss, honestly. He fuckin' hates being told what to do."

"So how do ya' know Junkrat, anyway?" He asks. "Is he ya'..." he searches for the right word. "...Partner? Boyfriend? ...Ya'll got a word for that?"

"You think I'm his missus?!" Derby gives a cackle at this, shaking her head. "Nah, Jamie's me brother. Half brother. We got the same mum." She stops herself, pursing her lips. "...Or the same dad. Either one. I dunno, some shit." She shakes her head quickly, as though to snap herself out of a train of thought that was running in a loop. "What about you?" She asks. "You got a missus back home?"

He looks ahead into the arid wasteland, pondering this. He could always try and explain it, but he could also just entirely disregard the whole thing -- it's not everyday you meet a wild, six-foot-something blonde who curses like a sailor, and he can't help but find it a little... well, maybe there'll be leisure time. She seems like the type, anyway. But as good as that sounds... it doesn't feel right. It feels dishonest. Jesse McCree, worrying about being dishonest? He wonders what things are coming to.

"Used ta'," he finally replies, smiling fondly. "Just friends now."

"Friends?" She asks, an eyebrow raised.

"Yeah," he nods. "Sometimes ya' just gotta' be grateful for what ya' got."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what to say.  
> I guess this is more of an epilogue than anything, but hopefully it gives everyone a little more closure and also opens the door for the next in the series, which is going to be like, a McCree, Junkrat, Roadhog and Symmetra adventure.  
> But I know that I need to thank you all. I know I've said it a million and one times but thank you all so much for all your support. This fic has changed my life -- I know that sounds a bit dramatic but it's true. It's resulted in new opportunities for me, including some great job opportunities that I'm really excited about! It's given me an escape from all the shit that's gone down in my own personal life and it's just utterly a joy to know that something that I've created has touched people and made them happy. Seriously. Every comment has been a treasure to me. There's nothing like knowing someone else out there has gotten something out of your work. It's an altering experience.
> 
> I hope some of you join me for the next in the series (but I understand if you don't, it's going to be a little different -- but still some good reader/McCree romance.) Because it's set in Australia, it's pretty close to my heart and something I'm very excited to explore and play with.  
> If you want more up to date news, my twitter is twitter.com/elizabethdanger -- best place to get updates, honestly. 
> 
> But once again, thank you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you. This has been an amazing experience. 
> 
> Papa bless <3


End file.
